Für Das Größere Wohl
by Pseudonym Sam
Summary: Dieter Heydrich is a model German boy with perfect Aryan complexion, exemplary conduct in the Hitler Youth, and fanatical loyalty to his beloved Führer. But on his eleventh birthday, he discovers a hidden magical world led by Gellert Grindelwald...
1. Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Schwalbe

My curiosity has officially gotten the better of me, and this is the result: a story about a Muggle-born wizard fighting for the wrong side. I must warn you that this story's "protagonist" is excessively anti-Semitic, homophobic, and prejudiced against pretty much anyone who isn't a so-called "Aryan."

**Massive Disclaimer:** I do not sympathise at all with Nazism in any way, shape, or form – I wrote this story to contemplate the relationship between Hitler's Germany and Grindelwald's. The views expressed by many characters (and even the narrator) in this story belong to those characters and are not my own. Additionally, I do not own J.K. Rowling's _Harry Potter_, so Grindelwald's Wizarding Reich in this story is just my interpretation.

**Note:** And speaking of Grindelwald, I believe that his ideology was NOT the same as Voldemort's. When I read _Deathly Hallows_, I got the impression that Grindelwald (and Dumbledore) fancied himself a philanthropist with a grand vision of a great, pan-wizarding society. Thus, the Grindelwald in this story is a widely popular charismatic dictator, instead of some radical Pure-blood obsessed maniac terrorist like Voldemort.

**Also, **I've drawn some pictures for this story, which you'll find below. However, this site automatically deletes any links, so if you want to look at them, copy and paste these URL addresses into the address bar, **and delete ALL the spaces in-between.** If you do it right, you should be able to see the pictures.

**Mitternachtsmannschaft:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /Mitternachtsmannschaft. jpg

**Dieter Heydrich in Deutsches Jungvolk (DJ) uniform:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /DieterHeydrich. jpg?t= 1222232132

**Dieter as Josef Stalin - joke picture for Halloween:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /DieterHalloween. jpg?t= 1225498101

Enjoy!

___Pseudonym Sam_

**PS: **Also, my knowledge of the German language is poor at best, so I apologise in advance for any errors that might appear. If you happen to spot any mistakes, please let me know.

* * *

**Chapter I: Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Schwalbe**

Adolf Hitler Platz was a spacious, airy town square, spaced with trees and benches and bordered by busy shops. At one corner was a house that looked no different from the adjacent homes and businesses: it was of the same, typically German medieval half-timber construction, and the national flag hung from a small horizontal pole near the door just like every other building in the town.

The inhabitants of that ordinary house were the Schwalbe family, and that was where the illusion of conformity ended. Herr Schwalbe was a very peculiar man – he dressed unusually, acted unusually, and was… _well_, unusual. When he rarely ventured out of his house, he was sometimes seen wearing odd, colourful robes, no matter what the weather was like. On other strange occasions, he sported the bizarre combination of sandals, lederhosen, and a trench coat.

Then there was his behaviour, which was not only strange, but bordered on the suspicious. He avoided people when he went about his business, and he was distinctly awkward when confronted with normal human contact. One morning while walking down the street, a passing woman had innocently greeted him with a salute and a friendly, "Heil Hitler."

But Schwalbe had stopped, confused – the woman recalled that it seemed like the man hadn't even _heard_ of the Führer until that moment. Herr Schwalbe hastily stammered, _"Guten Morgen,"_ and flopped the wrong arm in front of him in a feeble imitation of the woman's salute. He then furtively hustled away and quickly disappeared before anyone could see where he went.

The man was undoubtedly strange. People saw his eccentric, outlandish clothes and reported him as a lunatic or a homosexual to the Gestapo. Others thought that his sneaky, secretive nature was glaring proof that he was an underground communist, and so _they_ called the Gestapo. Most noticeably of all, his house never flew the flag of the Reich until recently – another reason to send the Gestapo.

But every time the _**Ge**heime **Sta**ats**po**lizei_ paid a visit to the Schwalbe house, the agents resolutely confirmed (in odd, monotonous tones of voice) that there was nothing to worry about. Herr Schwalbe was sane, perfectly heterosexual (he had a wife and children, after all), and was a good National Socialist.

Yet, despite the Gestapo's assurances that the Schwalbe family was perfectly normal and patriotically Teutonic, everyone in the town still had their doubts. But what the government said was official, so the townspeople just went about their business and did their best to ignore the mysterious family living in the house at the corner of Adolf Hitler Platz.

That is, until their house caught on fire on a dark November night of 1938.

* * *

Two men walked down a deserted street in the dead of night. One of the men was tall, thick, and muscular, and looked stereotypically Aryan. His companion was a few heads shorter and much thinner, and his pointed face and shoulder-length black hair gave him the suspicious appearance of some Tatar from the east across the steppes.

Despite their vastly different physical appearances, they wore identical outfits that consisted of large, jet-black robes, making them almost invisible in the darkness, though the tall man's shiny blond hair was an exception. Where the right breast pocket would have been on normal clothes, there was instead a triangular badge on the robes of both men. The emblems sported the mysterious acronym _ZVK_ on the bottom, and were emblazoned with the gold image of a smooth wooden stick with eagle's wings, and menacing lightening bolts emanating from the centre.

The two ZVK agents walked in silence through a small town square and stopped at house in a corner. The half-timber dwelling suddenly emerged out of the darkness, illuminated by the light of two wands.

The short man studied the red flag hanging from the short flagpole, and noticed that every neighbouring building displayed identical banners. The Muggle standard bore an uncanny resemblance to Grindelwald's, but instead of a vertically bisected triangle with an inscribed circle, there was a sort of four-armed hooked cross in the middle of the white disk. The short man said disdainfully, "Those Muggles, they have no imagination at all..."

After casting an anti-Disapparation jinx around the area, his taller companion peered at the door. "Should we knock?" he asked half-jokingly – the other man shook his head. He gestured to the entrance with his wand, and with his free hand, he put up three fingers.

One went down. Then a second. Then the third…

_"CONFRINGO!"_ both agents chorused together. The spells slammed into the front door and exploded, blasting apart the entryway and setting the damaged timbers and wallpaper alight. Without bothering for the smoke to clear, the two men charged into the house.

_"Confundo!"_

Herr Schwalbe's spell hit the tall, blond ZVK agent – he tried cursing Schwalbe, but his arm flew wildly and his wand was thrown out of his hand. He reached to grab it, but his body went in the opposite direction and he crumpled to the ground. With all of his muscles functions reversed, the tall man wasn't going anywhere.

"Gerda! _It's the Mitternachtsmannschaft!_ Get the childr–"

_"CRUCIO!"_ the shorter man with the pointed face roared. His crimson curse cut Schwalbe's panicked warning short, for he was subjected to the phantom agony of hundreds of hot knives piercing his body. He collapsed, screaming, and the shorter agent took the opportunity to undo the Confundus charm on his stricken comrade.

"Hold him here! I'll get the rest of them!" he ordered to the blond man (_"Jawohl, Sturmgruppenführer!"_ the subordinate affirmed) as he charged up a narrow staircase. The landing was filled with smoke rising from the ground floor, but there was one door that magically repelled the fumes.

Two blasting curses were sufficient to break down that reinforced door, and the storm group leader threw some stunners into the room before crashing in.

There was a woman who had her arm around a boy and a freshly unconscious little girl. Her free hand darted to glowing blue lamp–

_"Stupefy!"_ the agent yelled, and the red stunner pelted straight for the woman's face. There was a muffled thud as the three people were irresistibly pulled into nothingness by the Portkey.

_"SCHEIßE!"_ he swore, incensed that his prey had just eluded him by a hair. No matter how angry he was, there was nothing he could do to reverse what had happened, so he turned and thundered back down the stairs.

"Let's get the hell out!" the blond agent hollered to his superior as he reached the bottom of the steps. "The whole house is going to burn down!"

So it was. What had started out as a small fire in the entryway had spread across the walls, into the sitting room, and was creeping up the stairs.

The short, black haired man simply nodded in confirmation and hastened out of the house through the wrecked entrance. His larger companion followed, carrying a bound and gagged Herr Schwalbe.

They ran out into the middle of the Muggle town square, out of the range of the anti-Disapparation ward they had erected. The captive gazed in the direction of his burning home, eyes wide open in terror.

"Come on, you!" the short, pointed faced _Zauberische Verteidigungsmannschaft des Kanzlers_ agent said to the heavy, balding Herr Schwalbe. "One more traitorous scum for the black fortress tonight – don't you worry. We'll catch the rest of your family soon enough!"

Impossibly, the captive's eyes just got wider. The two agents spun on the spot and disappeared into thin air, taking Herr Schwalbe away to the prison of Nurmengard.

The corner house of Adolf Hitler Platz they left behind burned, and the Muggles of the town were all rudely awakened by the roar of flames, the wail of sirens, and screams.


	2. Düstere Nacht

I don't own Harry Potter. I also don't like Nazis, but this story is choked full of them.

Pseudonym Sam

* * *

**Chapter II: ****Düstere Nacht**

"Dieter – wake up!" his older brother shouted suddenly in the middle of the night.

"Wha…?" the sleeping blond boy muttered, unwilling to leave the warmth of his bed. He was abruptly aware that the lights had been turned on, so he bid his retreat beneath the blankets…

"WAKE UP! THERE'S A FIRE!" Hans yelled loudly in Dieter's face – he was suddenly jerked out of sleep and he bolted upright.

_"Mein Gott! The house's on fire?"_ Dieter exclaimed worriedly as he scrambled out of bed and put his shoes on, "We have to get out!" He ignored the pain in his eyes that tried adjusting to the bright lights, and started grabbing everything he could, to save it from the fire–

"Not _our_ house, dummkoff!" Hans scolded with ill-disguised amusement. "A house in Adolf Hitler Platz! We have to go help put out the fire!"

His older brother then left the bedroom, no doubt to alert the rest of the family. Dieter had an inexplicable urge to change into his uniform, but his brain caught up to him: _no one would care how he was dressed_.

After having only put some shoes and socks on, Dieter left the house in his pyjamas. He dived into the chilling cold air and ran down the cobbled length of Erdnuss-Straße all the way to Adolf Hitler Platz.

A crowd of busy citizens was already there, all in a line that stretched from the burning house of Herr Schwalbe to the fountain in the middle of the square.

"You there, boy! Go get some buckets! We're running short!" a policeman standing on the fountain's edge wearing a uniform on top and nothing but his underpants on bottom ordered to Dieter. The boy nodded, and ran right back to his home.

Hans suddenly loomed out of the darkness, and… _the nerve of him_. He was fully dressed in his Hitler Youth uniform, complete with armband and the knife hanging from his belt. "Where are you going, Dieter?"

"Buckets!" he answered without slowing his pace. "They need buckets!"

His older brother skidded to a halt (and almost twisted his ankle on the cobbled street) and abruptly turned back too. Together, they barged back into their more modern brick house and grabbed every bucket-like object they could find. The flower vases and kitchen pots were not spared.

Joined by their mother, father, and brothers and sisters Paul, Marie, and Lena, they rushed back into the dark street armed with the direly needed buckets.

"Get in the bucket line!" the policeman ordered once they had arrived, and they obeyed. Pails, pots, vases, and anything that could hold water was dunked into the fountain and passed from person to person, all the way to the burning house, where sweating men braved the heat to throw water on the flames. In the terrified excitement, some townspeople dropped their containers and were accosted by the half-dressed officer.

The town's sole fire engine was also there, furiously shooting jets of water into the blazing home. Herr Schwalbe's house was beyond saving, but everyone worked tirelessly in a desperate attempt to prevent the fire from spreading – already, the adjacent home was alight!

And so they worked. Firemen manned the hoses and the ordinary citizens operated the endless human conveyer belt, passing the buckets. A few hours passed without anyone fully aware of the time, but finally, the flames flickered away, leaving behind only smoke and the charred timber skeleton of the Schwalbe house.

The townspeople were tired, hot, and drenched in sweat despite the chilling night, and wanted nothing more to return to their homes and wash up. Much to everyone's chagrin, a black-uniformed Party official (who would have almost vanished into the darkness were it not for his red armband and pale face) had arrived and ordered everyone to stay.

"Please, everyone!" he loudly implored from his perch on the fountain's edge, next to the half-dressed policeman. "Did anyone see what happened here, what caused the fire?"

There was a torrent of confused shouts as everyone spoke at once. The official made a violent gesture with his arm to call for silence, and once it was eventually achieved, he pointed to a woman in the crowd and said, "You – what were you saying?"

Her voice free from the former tumult, she answered, "I heard some sort of explosion, so I got up and went outside to take a look. The fire in the house was spreading, and two men came running out, dragging another man… I think that must have been Herr Schwalbe."

"Where did they go?" the official prodded, and everyone waited for an answer with bated breath.

"I'm not sure; it was very dark, but…" she hesitated, trying to piece together the memory of the group's strange disappearance of a few hours earlier. "…I think they were headed in the direction of Kartoffel-Straße!"

_"Kartoffel-Straße?"_ many voices chorused in astonishment and anger.

Kartoffel-Straße… it was a small, unimportant street in the town, but it was nevertheless the blight of the small community. The citizens pronounced the name distastefully, as if the very words were bitter – that street was where the _Jews_ lived. There were probably no more than ten families who lived there (many had fortunately left Germany to plague _other_ countries like France or Britain), but every self-respecting Aryan in the town did their best to avoid that place – and that street's infestation thankfully kept to themselves.

But all that changed, based on the woman's startling revelation – the Jews had crossed the line. At that moment, everyone forgot their misgivings about the peculiar Schwalbe family; they were odd, no doubt about that, but the Gestapo confirmed that they were just as Aryan as everyone else. And that German family had been cowardly attacked and had their house burned down in the middle of the night by those Jews – those _Untermenschen!_

The tired, dishevelled townspeople assembled in Adolf Hitler Platz were in an uproar: there were impassioned shouts, calling for vengeance. Dieter's mother saw what was coming.

"Come on, Dieter. We have to go back home before something bad happens," Mutti said to him.

"What? We can't let those Jews get away with this!" the shocked boy responded. "And how come you're letting Hans stay, but not me?" he added, noticing that his parents, accompanied by his younger brothers and sisters, had only addressed Dieter and not his uniform-clad older brother, who was standing next to him.

Hans added his weight to the argument on Dieter's behalf. "He's not a little child, Mutter. He's old enough to be in the Deutsches Jungvolk…"

His father nodded understandably, and Mutti conceded defeat. She sighed and said, "Well, be careful you two. Stick close to your brother, Dieter!" With those parting orders, they left Dieter and Hans alone in the crowd of angry townspeople.

The Party official was in his element. He called for silence, and once it was achieved, he announced in a great voice, "We have no time to waste! We must punish the vermin of Kartoffel-Straße, everyone!"

He then thrust a stiff arm out in front of him in salute, and said, "Sieg–"

"Heil!" everyone answered, with their right arms straight and erect, pointed back at the uniformed Party man.

_"Sieg–"_ the official repeated, louder.

_"Heil!"_

**_"SIEG–"_**

**_"HEIL!"_**

The cries were deafening, and everyone found themselves caught up in a movement larger than themselves. Their voices chorused as one, unifying them in the solidarity of anger and hate for the Aryan's most vile enemy – Dieter wasn't the only one who screamed himself hoarse.

The heated, noisy mob then followed the Party official out of Adolf Hitler Platz. They thundered down the dark cobbled streets the short distance to Kartoffel-Straße, shouting cries of _"Juden, raus!"_

The townspeople set about vandalising everything in sight. Windows of the Jewish shops and homes were all smashed. Men charged inside and stole everything they could find – even some Jews were dragged out onto the street and berated with abuse, and were shouted at with questions of, "Where are the Schwalbes, you swine?"

They had no answers, and they did a very good job of pretending not to know what the Aryans were talking about. "What have we done to you?" a Jewish man with an impressive beard and sidecurls pleaded in terror. "We haven't done anything, I swear!"

Dieter was suddenly reminded of one of the books his younger brothers and sisters read: _You Can't Trust a Fox in a Heath and a Jew on His Oath_.

Just on cue, everyone crowded around the hapless Jew shouted, "Liar!" A man then rushed up with a pair of scissors and proceeded to roughly cut off the Jewish man's beard. He was soon assisted by others who laughed while they restrained their struggling victim.

It was exhilarating. That was the only way that Dieter could adequately describe the scene. He delighted in smashing windows or simply running around, having his eyes soak in as much of the magnificent sights as possible. The townspeople were all assembled in the raid, unified against the common enemy – Dieter felt a surging rush of pride for his countrymen and his race, glad that he was fortunate enough to be a part of it.

He spotted a house that was, oddly, completely intact for some reason. "Hey Hans!" Dieter shouted to his older brother, "Those windows haven't been broken yet!"

"What windows? Where?" he replied excitedly, eager to vandalise and get away with it.

Dieter answered his question by picking up a loose cobblestone and throwing it through the shattering window. "_That_ one!"

"What? You just threw a rock at the wall!" Hans yelled, amused at the antics of his stupid younger brother. Dieter looked back and noticed that Hans had gone back to join a mob in tormenting a family of terrified Jews that had been ousted from their home.

Dieter shattered a second window of the previously undisturbed house, but he observed a bit uneasily that absolutely no one around him seemed to have noticed. The townspeople ransacked everything in the home to the left and the bakery to the right, but completely ignored the home in the middle – it was as if their eyes refused to acknowledge the structure's presence, like it wasn't even there.

Mind racing, Dieter ran up to the front of the house and pressed his hand against the very solid brick – so it _wasn't_ a figment of his imagination…

"You'll notice that the door is over _there_, my boy," a voice said.

Dieter jumped. He turned to face the voice and was greeted by the sight of an old man, looking at him through the window he had just shattered. The old man in the pinstriped robe was very tall and skinny, and had wispy grey hair and a long pointed beard that looked sharp enough to puncture a car tyre.

"Who are you?" Dieter asked the old man in a somewhat trembling voice. The boy didn't sound or look brave and imposing at all. He was, after all, a ten year old in pyjamas.

"Please, call me Strichleiter," the tall, old man answered kindly, not at all put off by the fact that the little delinquent boy had just vandalised his home like some barbaric Bolshevik. _"Come in,"_ he invited.

Dieter hesitated, buying time to hastily measure the old man. He looked skinny and frail, but lively, and something about his expression told Dieter that he was no Jew. Ultimately, his curiosity got the better of him – he looked furtively to the sides and behind him, and Dieter came to the conclusion that only he could see the old man and his home. Against his better judgment, he went through the door, hoping for some kind of explanation.

"Don't worry. I enjoyed smashing windows too when I was a boy. For a real challenge, try breaking one without making any noise," Herr Strichleiter said lightly to Dieter once he cautiously came inside. "Please, sit down."

He sat in the indicated chair and surveyed the small room he was in, lit dimly by a clever arrangement of candles scattered about. Directly in front of him in a narrow chair was the old man, who was smiling and holding what looked like a wooden drumstick. The rest of the room was a bit crowded, filled with very quaint and dusty furniture – there were also some bizarre brass instruments of completely unknown purposes.

"I-I'm sorry about the windows, sir," Dieter stammered in apology. He gestured to the front of the room… and was shocked by what he saw. His gobsmacked expression bore an uncanny resemblance to a guppy at feeding time.

There were no shards of glass on the floor or empty frames in the wall. The windows were there, completely intact.

Unsurprisingly, Dieter thought for one wild moment that he had gone mad. First there was the house that only he seemed to be able to see. Then he supposedly broke the front windows, but _didn't_…

It took a moment for Dieter to realise that Herr Strichleiter was talking to him: "…there's a perfectly simple explanation, but first – I'm curious… Why did you break my windows to begin with? Just some good felonious fun?"

Dieter found his voice and blurted, "No – it was the Jews! We're here to teach them a lesson!" He then launched into what would have been a long explanation about how they caused all of Germany's problems, but he stopped, intrigued by the old man's expression. He looked politely puzzled, as if he had never even heard of the Jews, much less known that he lived in a neighbourhood chocked full of them. Dieter was under the impression that Herr Strichleiter didn't go out very often.

The old man squinted through the mysteriously intact window, watching the commotion outside – his brows furrowed in thought. When he turned to speak to Dieter, his expression and voice were still in his light, almost amused tone.

"You shouldn't waste your time with those… _'Joos,'_ you call them?" Herr Strichleiter said. Then, in a much more serious voice – "There are more important, _greater_ enemies than them."

"What – _Communists?_ Homosexuals?" Dieter threw out quickly. _Who could possibly be worse than the Jews?_ he thought, and anxious for the old man's answer.

Herr Strichleiter pointed a wrinkled finger at the window. "Them," he stated simply, looking disdainfully at the crowd outside.

"So… you _do_ mean the Jews–"

"Nein!" the old man declared with surprising force. "I do not mean the _Joos_ or the _Columnists_ or the _homosexuals_. Come," he implored as he got up from his chair and walked around the cluttered furniture to the window. Dieter followed, confused.

The old man waved his finger back and forth, as if drawing an invisible lasso around the crowd of townspeople outside the window. "Them," he spat disgustedly, with all vestiges of warmth and kindness in his old face absent. "_Those_ people out there. All of them. Those people are the real enemy – the _Muggles_."

Strichleiter turned to Dieter, who was now genuinely disturbed; frightened by the traitor of the Reich standing in front of him – he called his fellow Germans enemies and _Muggles_, whatever that was supposed to mean. He revealed his wooden drumstick and held it rigid, right in front of Dieter's face.

"You are like me, my boy. You are special, and _this_," he nodded his head towards the thin piece of wood, "is what sets us apart from all _those_ people out there in the street."

The old traitor with the stick was plainly mad, and Dieter wanted nothing more than to get away from him. He wasn't sure whether the voice was real or just his imagination, but he heard his older brother outside calling for him.

"I have to go," Dieter said quickly. Without a backwards glance, he fled outside into the frigid Kartoffel-Straße, and was confronted by an agitated Hans. In a confused, frightened daze, he didn't hear a word of his brother's lecture about staying in sight as they walked back home.

Dieter's sleep was troubled for the next few days.


	3. Schnee Krieg

Once again, I do not own Harry Potter. There is no obvious magic present in this chapter, but rest assured that it will turn up in later instalments.

And yes, this chapter has lots of little Nazis in it too, unfortunately.

Pseudonym Sam

* * *

**Chapter III: Schnee-Krieg**

"Now, the northern nations of Europe, here…" Herr Lehrer explained, pointing his stick at the map, "…the Reich, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, among others, have pure Aryan populations, excluding, _of course_, certain infestations of Jewish and Gypsy Untermenschen..."

Several weeks later and with the window incident safely pushed to the back of his mind, Dieter was in his geography class, busy taking notes. He drew a misshapen blob that in no way could ever pass for the European continent, and circled the upper portion. He drew an arrow pointing to the inside of the circle, and at the pointer's base, he wrote the word, 'Aryan.'

"…Now, let's talk about the biological properties of an Aryan person before we move on to the rest of the world. Would anyone in the class like to tell us?"

Dieter looked around him, just like everyone else in the classroom. Nobody raised their hands to answer, and Herr Lehrer noticed. After waiting for a few seconds, he kindly asked, "Dieter – would you care to explain what the typical Aryan looks like?"

He had no choice, actually. Dieter briskly got up from his chair and stood up next to his desk to answer, but he stumbled on his response rather than his feet. He knew the answer to the question, but he didn't know how to convey his mental image of the Aryan person into words.

"Well, the Aryan looks _like_…"

The teacher waited patiently for a few seconds before raising his eyebrows and suggesting in an amused tone, "Like you?"

Dieter noticed that Herr Lehrer was smiling and suddenly realised why he had been called to answer to begin with. The teacher taught the class about the facial features of the typical Aryan, using Dieter as an example. He could feel his cheeks turn red – everyone was staring at him, and some girls where stifling giggles. Walter, Karl, and Erick, on the other hand, were making a very poor effort at restraining their amusement.

Dieter didn't hear a word of Lehrer's explanation about nose and skull structures, and eye and hair colours. After what seemed like an eternity, he was told he could sit back down, which he did gladly. One of the giggling girls got her comeuppance, for she was called upon to serve as the model for the typical Aryan female.

A few minutes later, Herr Lehrer returned to the map, and aimed his stick at the British Isles. He told the class, "Now, the English are Aryans thanks to their proud Anglo-Saxon and various Viking ancestors, yet in some areas their population has been diluted slightly with old Celtic blood in Wales…" He pointed at the western protrusion of the island, then – "…and Scotland, _here_. Additionally, Latins were introduced into Britain's racial mix when William the Bastard of Normandy conquered Saxon England in the year 1066. This leads us to _France_."

The teacher's voice took a very bitter tone when he pointed at France, duly noting that the country was slightly fatter on the map than it should have been, thanks to the crimes of 1918. He explained that the French, along with the Spaniards, Portuguese, and Italians, were Latins and therefore not Aryans - but they were still better than the barbaric Slavs to the east. _They_ were infested with millions of Jews, and being savage, godless Bolsheviks did not help their race at all.

The teacher didn't have any living examples in the class to describe the other races of the world, so he instead used a large poster tacked to the wall with pictures of some very unsightly heads. The Asiatics had little, squinty, slanted eyes and buckteeth; Africans had oddly lumpy faces and huge lips and looked like chimpanzees; and Jews had greedy, beady eyes, and huge noses – Dieter couldn't decide which race was the ugliest.

"So, in conclusion, you have the Slavs…" Herr Lehrer pointed his stick at the giant map on the wall, at Russia and Eastern Europe. "_Untermenschen_. You have the African race, _in Africa_ obviously – Untermenschen. And the Asiatics… also Untermenschen."

Once the lesson was over, the geography teacher gave the class their assignment due the next class, which was to draw, label, and divide a map of the world between the Aryan, non-Aryan, and sub-human races. Dieter couldn't draw to save his life, so he fervently hoped that he wouldn't get marked off for his lumpy continents.

Fortunately, Dieter's marks in other classes did not depend on any sort of drawing skills. He had his usual classes like arithmetic, grammar, but best of all – physical education. All Dieter had to do in that class was run around and get exercise for two hours in the morning and three in the afternoon, plus there was no schoolwork involved, for which he was infinitely grateful.

Their instructor, Herr Beine, divided the class into teams and had them play several games, designed not only to aid the growth of healthy bodies, but to also build teamwork. The students, Dieter's friends, and himself ran around until thoroughly tired, but that wasn't the end of it. Their teacher pushed them to the limit and then some more and by the time school ended, Dieter staggered back home.

Several days later, in spite of his artistic talent that was comparable to a colour-blind hedgehog's, his racial map of the world received a perfect score.

* * *

_"Adolf Hitler, you are our great Führer. Thy name makes the enemy tremble. Thy Third Reich comes, thy will alone is law upon the earth. Let us hear daily thy voice and order us by thy leadership, for we will obey to the end and even with our lives. We praise thee! Heil Hitler!"_

A chorus of young voices sang out over the grassy field smothered in a thick blanket of snow. Dieter stood with his boots buried up to his ankles, with the blade of a spade ahead and between his feet. His hands clenched tightly the end of the wooden shaft, squeezing it just to provide a distraction from the chilling, early morning air. He was dressed only in his thin Deutsches Jungvolk uniform shirt and shorts, and it took all of the conviction he had to deliver the Oath and keep himself from shivering.

_"Führer, my Führer, give me by God. Protect and preserve my life for long. You saved Germany in time of need. I thank you for my daily bread. Be with me for a long time, do not leave me, Führer, my Führer, my faith, my light, Hail to my Führer!"_

In unison, the boys standing shoulder to shoulder extended their right arms in a crisp, stiff salute. The Bannführer, seemingly unperturbed by the cold, responded in kind with an outstretched arm and said, "Heil!"

"HEIL!" the boys answered with surprising volume, as shouting was a distraction from the discomfort of their bare legs left exposed to the elements.

The boys lowered their arms following the Bannführer's example. The adult youth leader surveyed his charges for several unbearably long seconds that felt like hours, and finally shouted the order, "Shoulder spades!"

In a flurry of movement, the boys obeyed. The heads of the spades were whipped up from the ground and were aimed at the air, with the handles resting on shoulders and blades glistening like bayonets.

"Right face!"

In unison, the Kameradschaft swivelled on their right heels, crunching the compacted ice beneath their serrated-soled boots.

"March!" the Bannführer ordered.

In unison, the dozen young boys in the Kameradschaft set off with their steps well synchronised. The boys' boots landed in the same pits in the snow created by the leader, marching like some khaki and black uniformed centipede. The hot breath of the shivering boys' mouths formed a thin trail of steam that dissipated into the cold air.

The Bannführer marched alongside the small column, checking the paces of each of the Pimpfs. He nodded in approval, but-

"Albert! Move it!"

"Sorry," the offending youth replied as he took several quick steps to get his strides to match the others'.

The line of Deutsches Jungvolk boys made their way from the muster field to the middle of Adolf Hitler Platz – the square lay invisible under a thick layer of snow. The Bannführer called a stop to rest, and stood next to the half-buried fountain. He aimed a gloved finger at the buildings around him, making a full circle.

"All right boys, you see that everyone's doors are snowed in shut? That is our objective. We're going to give everyone an early morning present by clearing off the snow to their doors, so that will be this weekend's community service project. Are there any questions?"

_Why can't we wear trousers?_ Dieter thought to himself, even though he already knew the answer – it wasn't part of the uniform. Besides, working in the snow with freezing, bare legs built character.

But Karl raised his hand. "Ja?" the Bannführer prodded.

"ES IST KALT!" he shouted - _IT'S COLD!_ Everyone was struck by the stupidity of his statement that the biting air was forgotten if only for a moment. Dieter couldn't help but laugh, which amazingly took a lot of effort – his body instead wanted to gnash his teeth together with jackhammer-like chattering.

"_Nice one, Marx_," Walter muttered lightly out of the side of his mouth. Karl Max's parents must have been extraordinarily stupid or drunk when they named him what they did, but Karl found his name's near-coincidence highly amusing. The tall, lanky black-haired boy, who looked nothing like the notorious Jewish communist, had a habit of blurting _highly constructive_ comments.

The Bannführer smiled grimly and simply responded, "Well, then there's no better reason to start shovelling snow to warm you up! Get busy!"

So they did. Dieter, Karl, Erick, and Walter decided to start with Herr Klemperer's Bakery. Their spades bit into the icy snow, scooped some out, and flung the cold cargo to the sides. Dieter repeated that motion and scooped out some more snow and disposed of it. Then he did it again…

_It builds character, Dieter_, he told himself to keep his mind off things. _Besides, you're doing a service to the Reich, and you're exercising! Remember, the basis of a healthy Volk is a physically strong and virtuous-_

"It's cold!" Marx shouted again after some twenty minutes of work, stating the obvious.

"Ow!" he added after Erick hit him on the leg with his spade to get him to shut up.

The boys finished unearthing the entrance to the bakery and then moved on to the adjacent shop. They busied themselves by shovelling out the snow and kept their spirits up by complaining about how cold it was, and what they looked forward to doing when they returned to the campsite. Dieter found himself working harder and harder, as if doing so would deliver that warm cup of hot chocolate sooner.

And in a way, it did. All the boys had experienced a similar phenomenon, and had excelled themselves with their work, removing the snow blocking the front doors of all the buildings centred around Adolf Hitler Platz. The time had flown by surprisingly quickly, and the Bannführer was impressed and pleased with the industrious boys of his Kameradschaft.

"Congratulations everyone," he announced after having the boys line up at attention, spades at the ready. "We'll be heading back to camp, and you can do whatever you please until ten o'clock. Good job!"

With spirits considerably higher but temperature slightly less so, the Kameradschaft filed out of Adolf Hitler Platz to head back to camp. The Bannführer didn't bother checking the paces of the boys, for his attention too was focused on the prospect of a steaming mug, but of coffee instead of chocolate.

Eventually, the white canvas tents that bore uncanny resemblances to Indian tepees swam into view, and the boys hastily broke formation and ran for the tent flaps. Pots, cups, water, and cocoa mix came out, and some of the older, more experienced boys were starting a small fire. The water would take a long time to get hot enough, assuming it didn't turn to ice beforehand.

On the other side of the meadow were some more tents, and from a flagpole fluttered a black triangular pennant, with a swastika inside a white diamond. Over in that camp, only a couple heavily dressed figures were outside.

Dieter caught his comrades' attention and gestured to the other campsite. "Look at them! It's eight in the morning and the Jungmädel girls are still asleep!"

They seemed to have read each others' minds. Smelling prey, the boys grinned like wolves.

* * *

"Es ist kalt!" Melita complained loudly to her friend Johanna. The two of them were up early, standing around in the cold morning air. They shivered underneath their large coats, which didn't trap enough heat to their satisfaction.

"Isn't it? I _hate_ camping, especially in the snow!" Johanna concurred. Her pale blonde hair blended almost perfectly with the vast snowfield around her. "This isn't what young German _maidens _are supposed to be doing. We should be inside; mein Gott it's freezing!"

Melita nodded vigorously. "I wish we could get a fire going already; I would _kill_ for something hot to drink right now."

**_Pow!_**

A snowball exploded on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. She managed a strangled squeak of alarm before her face hit the snow, shoving some very cold ice into her mouth.

Not a moment later, another snowball buzzed past Johanna's ear. Her head faced the source of the projectile and she spotted about a half-dozen bright red armbands with young boys in khaki uniforms attached to them, furiously throwing snowballs in her direction.

She dodged to the side, avoiding another snowy missile, but another hit a glancing blow on her thick jacket. "Melita, get up!" she cried as she grabbed her sputtering comrade's arm – she was spitting out the snow that had gotten in her mouth.

"Schnee-Krieg!" one of the boy's voices announced to a hail of snowballs. The two girls ran back the short distance to the line of tents screaming, "Help, we're under attack!"

If her warning shouts didn't make the message clear enough, the yelling boys and the thuds of snowballs hitting tent canvas did. Some more bewildered, frightened girls emerged from their tents straight into the line of fire.

_"Live Faithfully, Fight Bravely, and Die Laughing!"_

Dieter shouted the Movement's motto as he hurled another snowball at the Jungmädel girls. The boys were engulfed in the heat of battle, and the numbing cold biting at their arms, legs, and hands was ignored in the excitement – it was almost like a real war!

The ambush was perfectly executed, and the Deutsches Jungvolk boys participating in the raid were wreaking havoc among the feminine ranks, and caught unawares, the girls found it difficult to rally under the hail of missiles. Some of the boys were armed with their spades, using them to launch large clumps of snow long distances (if inaccurately) while simultaneously digging field fortifications.

But after some furious minutes of combat, the shock of the initial assault was ebbing, and the girls were fighting back with surprising effectiveness. Their large coats offered them some measure of protection against snowball hits, but the Deutsches Jungvolk boys only had their thin, short-sleeved uniform shirts and shorts – when the snow hit, it hit hard, and they could feel the icy sting.

The disparity in armour protection was starting to show. Many of the girls were hit repeatedly and continued fighting as if nothing happened. Though far fewer of the boys were hit, their effectiveness was ebbing as snowballs slammed into them, making the blows of the cold all the more acute.

A knockout blow was in order. "Walter, Karl, you stay here and give us covering fire!" Dieter said to the two of his friends who had good throwing arms. "Erick, let's go in and open up a new front on their flank!"

Erick nodded fervently. He was fast, aggressive, and good at hitting things.

"Race you there!" Erick shouted as he ran off without waiting for any kind of signal. Mentally cursing him, Dieter followed his friend to the right edge of the Jungmädel camp. The girls didn't seem to have noticed the two boys attacking their flank, since they were a bit preoccupied with the boys directly ahead of them, and their own tents blocked the view to the side.

…Or perhaps not. A cloaked figure emerged through a gap in the tents to investigate where two of the seven male attackers had gone. Immediately Dieter and Erick pummelled her with snowballs, but her shouts had sounded the alarm.

"There goes the element of surprise; let's go!" Dieter shouted to his friend, who did not hesitate to obey. Each boy took a separate path through the line of tents, and they burst into the Jungmädel campsite under a hail of fire. Erick was hit several times, but amazingly, all of the snowballs aimed at Dieter _missed_. He twisted and dodged, narrowly avoiding being struck during those critical seconds.

He quickly bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, and plastered a defender without bothering to pack the ball first. Erick meanwhile, didn't have time to make any projectiles: he resorted to the highly crude, unconventional, yet effective tactic of simply running straight at several girls and shoving them to the ground with the force of a runaway locomotive.

The air was filled with yells and shouts as the remaining boys charged to join in the furious melee. An adult female voice shouted, "Stefan! Get your little monsters to stop already!"

But the Bannführer (whom Dieter had only now noticed had entered the fight) replied by throwing a snowball at the adult Jungmädel leader, striking her in the shoulder. "All right! If that's how _you_ want to play…" she said as she scooped up some snow and shaped it into a hard sphere.

It was complete chaos at close combat. The ranges had become so short that it was almost pointless to throw snowballs at each other, and for several quick minutes the boys and girls fought a furious, exhilarating battle – the absurd amount of epic combat compacted in such a short span of time seemed to speed up time, as the combatants on both sides lost themselves in the fight. It would have lasted forever had it not been for–

"Hey everyone!" one of the older boys screamed, having casually walked over to the battlefield from the Deutsches Jungvolk camp. "The hot chocolate is ready!"

The effect was immediate: the boys suddenly stopped fighting and ran back to their camp, yelling and hooting with excitement and eager anticipation. The girls, with their long coats soaked in places with melted snow and sweat, were left in shock.

"You see Melita? _That_ – is why I hate camping!" Johanna said to her friend in exasperation.


	4. Die Eule

Hurrah! At long last, here's another chapter featuring the little Nazi boy everyone loves to hate!

_Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter IV: Die Eule**

"Dieter, your father and I will be out for the evening, so I am putting _you_ in charge of looking after your siblings," Mutti said. She slipped into her coat and examined herself in the mirror mounted in the hallway near the front door.

The children were in the sitting room. Dieter's younger siblings Paul and Marie were busy at their studies, and Lena was vainly attempting to entertain herself by playing with an unresponsive toddler, Albert. Very unusually, Hans was actually doing his school reading. He looked up from his book and grumbled, "Hey! Why Dieter? Why not me?"

Vati was also by the door, and he answered, "Because we need someone _responsible_ to look after everyone. Dieter, make sure your siblings do their homework and don't blow up the house."

"Yes, Father," Dieter affirmed.

"That's my boy. How do I look, Love?" Vati asked as he took his turn in front of the short wall mirror. His eyes lingered on the reflection of his slowly receding hairline for a moment.

"Dashing," Mutti said, and she landed a quick kiss on her husband's cheek. "Now, behave, everyone."

With those stern parting words, Vati and Mutti left the house and entered the freezing cold, a draft of which rushed in through the briefly opened doorway. Their silhouettes in the door window quickly disappeared from view.

"Mein Gott, good thing they're gone. This book was getting on my nerves!" Hans announced, and casually proceeded to throw his book onto the coffee table.

Their parents' wisdom was demonstrated yet again – without their supervision, Hans went back to being himself, and Dieter saw the need to intervene.

"What are you doing?" he said to him, almost scandalised. "How can you show such disrespect to the Führer's _Mein Kampf?"_

Hans snorted. "Heh, more like _'Mein Kampf mit der deutschen Sprache.'_ Meaning no offence to the Führer, he's not a very good writer – have you tried _reading_ this thing from the beginning? It's so boring it's painful! The Führer should just stick to making speeches."

After a pause, Dieter smiled haughtily. "What?" his brother asked slightly annoyed, for he knew that look too well.

"_You _just find it boring because it talks about things that you're too _dumb_ to understand."

Dieter and his older brother were accustomed to lightly insulting each other, and Hans was not the least bit affronted. In fact, that statement was pretty much true.

"Right you are, Dieter. This book doesn't have any nice legs or skirts, or _anything!"_

"Why should a book have legs?" Marie asked, now distracted from a homework assignment that involved drawing something – a skill that neither Dieter nor Hans had developed.

The eldest brother snorted and muttered, _"Never mind."_ Unhappily, he snatched up the book from the coffee table and made yet another valiant attempt to read, whispering the words aloud to keep his concentration:

_"On April 1st, 1924, I began to serve my sentence of detention in the Fortress of Landsberg am Lech, following the verdict of the Munich People's Court of that time…"_

Evidently, Hans was still stuck on the first sentence.

"Dieter, can you help me with this?" his younger brother Paul asked. Not wanting to watch his older brother try (and fail) to read, he obliged and asked what he could do.

"I don't understand this question – _this_ one here," he explained while pointing to his paper.

Dieter read question number three, muttering it aloud: "_'There is a rabbit in a meadow, and it is unexpectedly ambushed and eaten by a fox. How is this a metaphor for the struggle of the world's races and nations?'_ Okay, Paul – first of all, do you know what a metaphor is?"

"Not really," he answered truthfully, so Dieter had to explain.

Twice.

"So Paul, what comparisons can you draw on the real world with this example from nature?"

"I don't know."

"You can't just say, _'I don't know,'_ Paul. You'll get marked down for that!"

"I guess I'll just have to," his younger brother replied. "This question makes no sense. Rabbits are rabbits. Foxes are foxes. What does that have to do with human beings, let alone countries?"

"Everything," Dieter said solidly, causing Paul to sceptically raise his eyebrows. "Let's start with the easy part. Of all of these animals, which one is superior? Which one's the strongest?"

With absolutely no hesitation, Paul's eyes seemed to glow as he enthusiastically responded, "The Tyrannosaurus Rex!"

Dieter sighed with exasperation. "That's not one of the options, Paul–"

"But it should be! The T-rex is the biggest predator in the world – six tonnes of bone crushing muscle! Teeth the size of daggers – they're a lot stronger than some stupid foxes!"

"Not anymore," Dieter said, irked. "Remember, the dinosaurs are _extinct_, and there's a reason for that. They were big, stupid lizards, and mammals are superior creatures. Now let's get back to foxes and rabbits…"

With great reluctance, Paul eventually conceded defeat and listened to the lecture. Rabbits were herbivores and were stupid. Foxes were carnivores. They were strong and cunning, and ate weaker animals like rabbits.

"So, obviously the fox is the superior animal, right?" Dieter asked, and Paul nodded. "Now, take what we've learned from nature about rabbits and foxes and apply it to our world."

Paul thought for a moment before saying experimentally, "So… countries are like animals, and only the strongest survive?"

Dieter smiled. _"Exactly,"_ he said. He explained that countries and races could not afford to be stupid and lazy like a rabbit. Germany had to be a fox in order to survive, or face the same fate as that rabbit. Paul quickly thanked Dieter and scribbled down the correct answer.

The next hour or two passed uneventfully for the Heydrich children. Hans had only progressed about five pages into _Mein Kampf_, having read the same sentences over and over again without realising it. Dieter worked on his homework and was periodically interrupted, yet he eventually managed to finish despite assisting his confused younger siblings with their work and restraining Lena from climbing the furniture, as there were no trees in the house.

But once everyone's scholarly obligations were fulfilled (except for Hans, who was still struggling with the fourth page of _Mein Kampf_, and Albert who was too young to go to school), Dieter was faced with the knotty problem of distracting his charges. With reckless, five-year old abandon, Lena was back to attempting to conquer the bookshelf's towering summit.

"Lena! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?" he scolded as he pried her off again.

"But I'm BORED!" she screamed. She was _always_ bored, and unfortunately, the only thing she found entertaining was running around and climbing things, neither of which were very good hobbies inside the house.

Dieter suddenly had an idea – it was so _obvious_. He briefly scanned the bookshelf his youngest sister had been climbing moments before, and found it.

"Story time!" he announced, holding up the first book of the _Sky Captain Otto von Von series_, with the title in white and framed within the silhouette of a Zeppelin. On the cover was an African savannah full of wild animals with a snow-capped mountain in the distance. In the foreground was a man in Safari khakis and holding a large, bright, clear stone to his chest; behind him in the shadows was a dark figure with claw-like hands grasping from behind the brush. The books were a bit below Dieter's current reading level (many pages had pictures), but he liked them anyway and they were his favourite reading when he was younger.

"Really. _Story time?"_ Paul asked, acting as mature as an eight year old could.

"Yes. Any problems with it?" Dieter said, pointing at their younger siblings who were watching expectantly, though less so for Lena.

Paul didn't answer. He had long past the stage when stories were read to him and knew he was perfectly capable of reading for himself, but he shuddered at the prospect of being read stories like some little child. Sometimes, Paul tried to hard to act his age.

"So, on to _Sky Captain Otto von Von and the Kaiser's Stone…"_ Dieter said, as he opened the book to the first page:

_"Before the suffering of 1918 and the later National Socialist rebirth, Germany was a great, prosperous, and respected nation. These were the days of the Second Reich, and German language, culture, and people were to be found in even the most isolated and savage corners of the globe. One such place was the colony of German South West Africa (now occupied by the British puppet nation of South Africa), and this where this story takes place–"_

"Dieter, can't you read that someplace else?" Hans complained, looking up from the third page of _Mein Kampf_. "That's very distracting."

"You can always move," Dieter answered simply and slightly smugly. He then returned to the book.

Below the chapter title, _The Diamond Thief_, was a picture of the large, aforementioned stone, and a squat, shadowy silhouette reaching for it with a greedy hand. Dieter showed the illustration to his younger siblings, and continued reading.

_"There was a humble prospector name Otto, who emigrated to Africa from the Fatherland to search for gold and precious stones. He panned in the streams for weeks, which turned to months, which turned to years. He had very little luck, and barely scraped by. He thought of his friends and family he had left behind, and with each passing day he came to regret his decision to leave Germany._

_But every time he thought of life back in the Reich, reminded himself that the lands of Africa were wild and untouched, and the local people, the Hottentots, were only beginning to be civilised. Africa was an exciting place to be, and Otto could not restrain the childlike excitement that swelled in his chest at the prospect of living in a strange and untamed land."_

Hans gave up trying to read, and he got off his chair and headed upstairs. Once that momentary distraction had passed, Dieter continued:

_"Without fail, Otto woke up each morning with the sunrise, and walked to the stream near his shack with his shallow tin pan. Everyday, he'd dip the pan in the water, scoop up the pebbles and silt, and swirl it around. Most days he would find nothing, but today was no ordinary day._

_Otto noticed a large, silt-coated lump in his pan. He thought it was just an ordinary rock and prepared to throw it out, but he noticed a faint glimmer, and just in time. Curious, he rubbed the silt off and gasped at the sight of the enormous diamond in his hand, as big as a chicken egg!"_

"A chicken egg?" interrupted Paul. "Do diamonds that size even _exist?"_

"Sure they do," Dieter answered quickly. "They're just _rare_. Now, where was I…?

_'Eureka!' he cried in excitement–"_

Marie also interrupted and asked, "what does _'Yooreeka'_ mean?"

Dieter simply said that he didn't know, and she should ask father when he got home. After warning his younger siblings not to interfere with his storytelling again, he continued to read about Otto the prospector, who had in an instant become one of the wealthiest (and not to mention luckiest) men on earth. However, displaying great humility, Otto decided to return to Germany for a short while to personally give the enormous diamond to the Kaiser. This earned him much respect but also unwanted attention.

"Now, here comes the exciting part," Dieter added.

_"…Otto took a train to Swakopmund, from where he would take a boat to return to Germany. The provincial governor had generously paid for a first-class seat, and very helpful attendants and crowds of admirers besieged Otto, of which he found slightly tiring, but he handled his situation with good humour. He showed the curious passengers the diamond whenever he was asked, but always returned the stone to the safety of his pocket._

_But after several hours of uneventful travelling on the train, Otto decided to get a bit of fresh air, and headed to the open balcony at the rear of the cabin, where each of the passenger cars were linked together._

_'It's nice to get away from the crowds,' a voice chuckled. Otto discovered that he was not alone on the balcony. The other man was short, had small dark eyes, and a large hooked nose._

_'Yes, it is,' Otto answered._

_'Can I see the diamond? I've heard a lot about it.'_

_Otto sighed, wondering if all the attention would ever cease – giving the stone away to the Kaiser would be a welcome relief. He pulled the diamond out of his pocket and showed it to the short man._

_In an instant, there was a flash of steel and a splash of blood. The short Jew had drawn a knife and cut Otto's arm! There was a sharp jolt of pain that convulsed Otto's arm, causing him to drop the magnificent diamond, which the Jew expertly snatched._

_Enraged, Otto threw a punch with his uninjured arm, but the short Jew ducked and grabbed Otto's midsection. The thief then pushed up, and used Otto's momentum to tip him over the railing and send him sprawling into the rapidly moving dirt below. By a miraculous stroke of luck, Otto avoided hitting the train's crushing steel wheels, but he tumbled and tumbled until he flopped to a stop, battered and bruised._

_The short Jew laughed in triumph and pocketed the diamond. He made his way through the chain of passenger cars until he reached his seat in the crowded third-class cabin. He pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled a note:_

Haman,

I have stolen the diamond – now we will have the funds to execute Phase One of the Plan!

~ Korah

_Korah the Jew rolled up the note and inserted it into a small brass cylinder with a screw-off top, attached to a short lanyard. He then seized the wicker basket in the luggage rack above his head, and pulled out a ruffled pigeon. The Jew tied the little cylinder to the pigeon's leg, opened the window by his seat, and tossed the pigeon outside. Unaccustomed to the extra weight, the bird dropped almost a metre before it climbed up in the air and flew away._

_The carrier pigeon flew for several days and crossed hundreds of kilometres, until it reached a splendid plantation mansion. The Jew named Haman found the pigeon on his windowsill and read the note–"_

"Dieter, there's a carrier pigeon at the window!" squeaked Lena, pointing with a little finger.

After a quick glance, Dieter said, "Don't be silly. It's an _owl–"_

He did a double take and looked at the window again. There was a small, pigeon-sized owl sitting on the windowsill, softly tapping the glass with its beak.

And in its beak was a letter.

_Well, isn't that weird,_ Dieter thought. _A carrier owl…_

"Yay! We get to read the Jew's letter – what an exciting story!" his other sister said, forgetting that the note's text had been reveal a mere two paragraphs earlier in the novel, or that the wrong kind of bird was carrying it, or that there was absolutely no reason why the owl should have been there to begin with.

"It looks cold," Paul said, which was the only thing about the entire situation that made any sense. The owl's feathers were flecked with white bits of snow, and it tapped the window with more urgency.

His sisters pleads to let the cold bird inside were not needed. Dieter set down _Sky Captain Otto von Von_ on the coffee table, walked over to the window, and seized the latch. "The window opens outward. You should get out of the way," he said to the owl.

A second later, he suddenly realised how absurd it was to have just talked to an _owl_. It couldn't understand him. He shouldn't have bothered.

Dieter pushed the window open, and the ruffled bird hopped out of the way and then flapped inside the house, accompanied by a gust of chilling air and a smattering of powdery snow. The owl quickly dropped the envelope and shook itself dry like some small, feathery dog; afterwards, the bird resembled a downy fluff-ball with two big eyes and feet sticking out of the bottom.

"Ooooh! Isn't he adorable?" his sisters squealed excitedly. Paul rolled his eyes, but Albert was too young to care – he smiled toothily and said, "Flower!"

While his younger sibling (save for Paul, who pretended not to care) fawned over the bird, Dieter examined the letter the owl had delivered. The envelope was of thick, yellowish parchment, and there was an odd red wax seal, which had been stamped with an image of a triangle with a circle inside, with both shapes bisected by a vertical line.

"So, who's the letter for?" asked Paul, almost as an afterthought to the bird's arrival.

"Flower!" Albert said again.

Dieter turned the envelope over and read the address:

_Master Dieter Eckhard Heydrich  
The Sitting Room  
Number 23, Erdnuss-Straße  
Gemüsestadt  
Thüringen  
Germany  
Europe  
The World_

"It's for me," he stated, perplexed. Not only was the letter addressed in the most peculiar manner, he was disturbed by the fact that the sender even knew what part of the house he was in. Dieter looked at the window where the owl had entered, expecting to see someone spying on them, but there was nobody there.

With slight trepidation, he broke the wax seal and tore the envelope open – the letter inside was of the same thick parchment, and it was meticulously folded into a tight square. Dieter carefully pried it apart, and flattened it on the coffee table. The top of the parchment had the same triangular symbol and below it, the letter read:

_Dear Master Dieter Eckhard Heydrich,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Durmstrang Institute, a school for youth of extraordinary attributes and abilities. As you possess certain qualities valued by our school, and we will be deeply honoured if you assent to learn at our institution._

_Please return a response as soon as you can with Sleipnir – he is a highly trained and reliable bird, and he knows where to find me. If you accept, I look forward to discussing this matter with you and your family at greater length._

_Best wishes,_

_~ Theoderich Odoaker  
Deputy Rector  
_  
"Durmstrang? Never _heard_ of the place…" Dieter muttered. Part of him wanted to be excited – he was being offered a place at a highly selective and presumably prestigious school, but that feeling was crowded out by the impenetrable mystery of the school itself. How did this Theoderich Odoaker even know of Dieter to begin with?

"Could it be a Napola school?" suggested Paul. Unnoticed, he had been reading over Dieter's shoulder.

He shook his head. "Can't be. Look at the seal – there's no swastika. It's like nothing I've ever seen before…"

Dieter's other siblings couldn't have cared less about the letter – they never asked what it was about, since they were too preoccupied with playing with the owl… _Sleipnir_, apparently. Marie was drawing a colourful picture of the bird, and Lena and Albert were playfully following it as it explored the house on its little legs.

"I say we wait until Father gets back," Dieter suggested, mostly to himself. "He should know what's going on…"

Dieter didn't bother looking after his younger siblings – after all, the owl was proving to be a very effective childminder. He tried distracting himself from the strange thoughts about Durmstrang by reading more of _Sky Captain Otto von Von_, but the tale of Otto's escape from his marooning in the Kalahari Desert offered no outlet.

_Durmstrang… Durmstrang… what is Durmstrang?_ he thought after his curiosity won control of his brain. He read and reread the letter several times. It was all very mysterious, just like the disturbing meeting with Herr Strichleiter almost a month before, which Dieter wasn't fond of remembering.

Another hour or two passed (Dieter wasn't paying attention to the time) before his parents returned. They hung up their frosty coats on the rack while chatting to each other, but then Mutti saw the owl walking across the sitting room floor, and some of the children following it at a crawl.

"AHHH! What is THAT?" Mutti shrieked, pointing at the little feathery ball.

"It's an owl!" said Maire, holding up the picture of the bird she had just finished. "And we named him Flower!"

"But what's it doing in the house?" She then rounded on Dieter, who was sitting in the chair by the coffee table, the strange letter in hand. "What have you been doing this evening? You were supposed to stop things like this from happening!"

Father looked rather amused. "Now, now," he said calmly, "I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation why there's an owl inside the house – and a very nice one, I might add. Dieter, could you tell us why we have an owl inside the sitting room?"

"It came to deliver a letter," he explained, waving the parchment in his hand.

"What? A-a letter?" Father inquired, as if he hadn't heard correctly the first time.

"Yes," Dieter confirmed with a nod. He handed his parents the letter and the envelope and added, "and it's addressed to me."

Father furrowed his brow and examined the thick parchment envelope. "…The Sitting Room… Germany… the _World?"_ he muttered under his breath incredulously.

Both parents then read the letter, and Dieter waited for their reactions, slightly anxious. Mutti was the first to break the silence.

"Oh my, Dieter, this is excellent news!" she said beaming, having totally forgotten about the owl in the house. "I'm so proud of you; this school has recognised your talents. I think this calls for some sort of celebration! What do you think, Dear?"

Father looked far from joyous. "_Durmstrang… Durmstrang…_ I've never heard of such a place."

"Well, it's probably a Napola school," suggested Mother with undiminished enthusiasm.

Father shook his head. "No, it can't be. It needs a _'NPEA'_ in front of the name, and this is no National Socialist symbol," he explained, pointing at the triangular sign at the top of the parchment.

"So Dieter, you're saying that this letter was delivered to you by _owl?"_

Dieter nodded. "Yes. Just like a carrier pigeon!"

"But do you know how carrier pigeons work, Dieter?" father asked seriously.

"Sure," he answered, slightly put off by father's tone of voice. "You write a message and strap it to the pigeon's leg, and–"

"That's not what I mean," father interrupted and waved his hand impatiently. "I'm talking about how these birds find their _destinations_. Carrier pigeons can only be sent to one destination – the place of their nest. Back in the war, every headquarters would keep broods of pigeons, and some soldiers in every unit would carry several of those damn birds in a basket on their backs – and those pigeons only flew back to HQ, because that's where their nests were. Now, I know that owls are not pigeons, but are you starting to understand what receiving a letter from this bird means?"

_"Yes…"_ Dieter answered before his brain could catch up to his voice. Fortunately, father did the thinking for him:

"...You see, for this owl to have arrived at our house, it had to have already associated this place with home. And this means that in order for this owl to arrive here _bearing a letter_, this Theoderich Odoaker fellow has to have visited our house at least once already just to capture the stupid bird! And look at the address! _'The Sitting Room?'_ How could these Durmstrang people have known what part of the house you were in, if they weren't guessing? I don't like this. I don't like the sound of this at all – they must be spying on us."

Mother put her arms around his waist and said reasonably, "Don't you think you're jumping to conclusions, Dear? The war ended a long time ago – nobody's out to get us."

"I know, but that's what I don't _understand,"_ Father said, running his hand through his thinning hair in agitation. "One of my friends in the war was a pigeon carrier – I know how they work, and just based on how this letter got here is very unsettling."

He looked at the letter and envelope again. "And they didn't even include any return address. _Typical…_ See, they don't want us to know where they are! Wouldn't you say that's suspicious?"

Mutti reluctantly agreed – as much as she wanted Dieter to go to a good school, she couldn't deny the dubious circumstances of the entire affair. Tentatively, she asked, "So, how should we respond?"

"Respond?"

"Yes, _respond,"_ she repeated to her husband. "The letter asks that we send a reply with the owl. What should we say?"

Father thought for a moment, considering their options carefully. Dieter (who felt slightly ignored in his parents' conversation) figured that they could either accept or reject the offer, or–

"We don't reply," Father said simply. "Any response we send will give them an excuse to keep contacting us, so we'll just make them think the letter never arrived. I'm sure that these Durmstrang people only have a limit number of openings in their school, and they'll just move on to whoever else they're spying on if they don't hear from us."

And as an afterthought, he added, "What do you think of that, Dieter?"

Despite the appealing prospect of being accepted to a highly selective school, everything was just too weird. He was wanted by an institution he had not only never heard of, but had disturbingly good intelligence on what part of the room he was in and apparently must have been spying on the house! He didn't like the sound of that.

"Do you think it could be some sort of joke?" Dieter asked, for the thought had just appeared in his head.

Father scratched his head. "What makes you think that?"

Amazed by his own brilliance, Dieter replied, "You said that carrier pigeons – or in this case, carrier _owls_ – can only be sent on one-way trips, to wherever their nests are. So that means whoever sent this letter must be a neighbour or someone else who lives in the town, and I bet they'd think it would be very funny to have us fall for this or overreact."

Vati smiled, impressed. "You know what? I wouldn't be at all surprised if that was true – I wonder why I hadn't thought of that before."

"So, do we still ignore it, then?" Mother asked, and both Dieter and his father nodded.

"That's right. We don't want to make fools of ourselves. Glad you thought of that Dieter – I was thinking of reporting this letter to the Gemeinschaftsleiter."  
_  
Getting the Party involved? THAT would have been embarrassing! _Dieter thought…

"Mutti, Vati, can we keep Flower?" Lena asked, jolting Dieter and his parents out of their absorbing discussion about the mysterious letter.

They looked at the owl, which was now standing unusually still on the coffee table. Its bright yellow eyes stared back at them, as if waiting for their answer.

"He's a wild animal. How are we going to take care of him?" Mother answered reasonably, but the younger children looked quite hurt. She walked over to the window through which the owl had entered the house and opened it.

"Come on, Sleip… sorry. _Flower,_ it's time to go back outside."

The blizzard-like conditions on the other side of the window were far from inviting. The little owl didn't move.

"Shoo!" Father said, to absolutely no effect. And the owl still didn't move after several more 'shoos' of stronger tone. He sighed and reached to grab the bird and physically put him outside if he had to–

"OW!"

Sleipnir/Flower the owl had aimed a precise jab at Father's index finger, drawing blood. He tried grabbing a second time, but the owl thwarted him with another sharp peck.

Father muttered some colourful curses (even Dieter gasped), and didn't try forcibly evicting the owl again.

"Now what?" Mother inquired, perplexed.

As if answering that very question, the owl walked over to the small stack of papers on which Marie had been drawing. It rolled a pencil onto a cleared area of the coffee table, and tapped one of the pieces of paper with a clawed foot.

_Please return a response as soon as you can with Sleipnir – he is a highly trained and reliable bird, and he knows where to find me…_

"I think he wants us to write a response," Dieter suggested. It was the only explanation that made sense.

"But I thought we agreed that we should just ignore the letter," Father argued.

"Looks like we can't," Mother said. "The bird isn't going to leave any other way."

Father sighed and conceded defeat. He tentatively reached for the pencil and piece of paper, and the owl did nothing to stop him. Looking over his shoulder, Dieter read what his father wrote:  
_  
Dear Professor Odoaker,_

_We would be positively delighted if you could tell us more about Durmstrang personally. Thank you for offering Dieter a position in your school._

_With kind regards,_

_~ the Heydrich family_

Father tore the paper into a more manageable size and folded it. "There. Are you happy now?" he asked the owl.

The bird said nothing, but seized the note in its beak and finally flew out the window and into the chilling cold.

* * *

**Notes:**

**_Mein Kampf mit der deutschen Sprache_:** This means "My Struggle with the German Language," a name some Germans (in private) called Hitler's _Mein Kampf_.

**_Sky Captain Otto von Von_:** These books are totally fictional and are my own creation, but they reflect the kind of propagandised literature common in Nazi Germany.

**Napola Schools:** These were elite boarding schools designed to turn little Nazi children into big Nazis, essentially. The official name of this kind of school was _Nationalpolitische Erziehungsanstalten_, meaning "National Political Institutes of Education." The official acronym was NPEA, but most people just called them Napolas.


	5. Der Zauberer

Here's another chapter. I don't have anything more substantial to say, so enjoy!

_Pseudonym Sam  
_

* * *

**Chapter V: Der Zauberer**

_"Airship sighted! Off the starboard bow!" shouted First Officer Heydrich._

_Captain Otto von Von whipped out his own telescope and looked in the direction of the black speck on the horizon. "Identification?" he asked._

_Dieter peered through his telescope. "Judging by the shape of its tail, it's probably the Zion."_

_"Very well, First Officer. We shall commence the pursuit." Then the Captain yelled, "Lieutenant, set a new course: fifteen degrees to port. Increase engine output to fifteen hundred revolutions per minute!"_

_"Aye, aye, Sir!" the Lieutenant confirmed. He gave the wheel a spin, aiming the Valkyrie on its new course. Flying a kilometre over the African wilderness below, Captain Otto von Von's zeppelin chased after its prey._

_After a few short hours of pursuit, Dieter could see the gold six-pointed star on the Zion's flank with his own unaided eyes._

_"All hands to battle stations!" the Captain ordered. The cabin and the decks shuddered as the crew collected their weapons and hustled to their positions. Dieter already had his pistol in his holster, so he manned the machine gun in the front of the cabin._

_"Approaching target! In range in ten seconds!" the Lieutenant at the wheel shouted._

_Dieter loaded the swivel-mounted weapon and looked down the sights. The Zion grew larger and larger…_

_"FIRE!" the Captain commanded._

_**BamBamBamBamBamBamBamBam!** Dieter's machine gun roared. The stream of bullets slammed into the Jewish airship's engines, setting them on fire. Dieter whooped in triumph._

_Bullets of Israelite persuasion came back at the Valkyrie, but Dieter paid no notice. He kept firing and firing, sweeping the gas bag of the enemy airship–_

_**BÜM!**_

_There was a huge explosion, and all Dieter saw for the briefest of moments was the fireball in front of him. The machine gun was blasted off its mount and Dieter went with it. He somersaulted through the air and was falling, falling, falling…_

_A massive blow struck First Officer Dieter Heydrich in the chest, and startled, he opened his eyes._

"Dieter, Dieter, wake up!" Lena screamed, pounding her little fists on Dieter's torso.

"Come on," Hans said, "we've let you sleep in long enough. We can't let you miss the fabulous eleventh of December!"

Dieter rubbed his eyes and yawned. Not satisfied with his progress, Hans grabbed Dieter and lifted him out of his bed.

"Hey-hey-hey! I'm awake! I'm awake! Put me down!"

Hans obliged and simply dropped his younger brother, who made an ungainly landing on the floor – his left wrist absorbed much of the impact, and it throbbed painfully. He shook it and stretched his fingers a few times, and did his best to ignore the sting.

"Happy eleventh birthday, Dieter," Lena said brightly. "Mutti's baking a chocolate cake!"

His siblings left Dieter alone so he could change out of his pyjamas. Once properly dressed and presentable, he left the bedroom and headed downstairs. As he approached the dining room, his nose was assaulted by the strong whiff of cake aroma.

Apparently most of the rest of the family had already eaten their breakfasts (or perhaps had no appetites), since only Paul and Father were at the table. Dieter helped himself to some eggs, but didn't eat much, since he wanted enough space in his stomach for the cake later in the day. He finished breakfast quickly and left the dining room for the sitting room. He tried reading _Sky Captain Otto von Von and the Prisoner of Zion_ to occupy his mind, but he had no success. The wonderful prospect of imminent birthday cake and presents was far too distracting.

Then there was a rhythmic knock at the door, which he didn't notice until the visitor knocked for a second time. Dieter put the book back on the shelf, walked over to entryway, and opened the door.

Framed outside the doorway was a tall, briefcase-equipped man wearing what looked something like a crimson bathrobe. He had an angular face with a straight nose; his eyes were a light hazel, and his black hair was combed straight back, making it look like his hair had been sculpted by hurricane-force winds.

"Hello there," the stranger greeted kindly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Oh, no-no, not at all," Dieter answered politely, though it was a complete and total lie.

"Oh good. I am Professor Theoderich Odoaker, the Deputy Rector of Durmstrang Institute. I'd like to talk to you and your parents about your potential place in our school."

Dieter blinked and stood stunned for a second. He thought he had heard the last of that Durmstrang school a week earlier. It was the perfect practical joke – it gave it's victims false hope, then made them paranoid, and finished off the ordeal with a bad-tempered pecking owl that _forced_ them to acknowledge how incredibly clever the whole thing was.

He never expected a real, live Theoderich Odoaker to materialise on his snow-strewn front doorstep. He didn't expect this complete stranger to recognise him as the one of the six Heydrich children he sought, either.

"Sure, of course," Dieter said, stumbling over his words slightly. "I-I'll go get my father…"

Professor Odoaker waited patiently in the snow while Dieter ran back to the dining room. Vati was drinking his morning coffee and reading a newspaper (headlined, _Sudetenland Embraces National Socialism! Over 97% of Votes for the NSDAP!_) when Dieter told him who was at the door.

"WHAT? _Who's_ at the – _Scheiße!"_ His mug slipped, spilling coffee over the newspaper. "Sorry, but Paul, could you please clean this up – I don't have the time, and I need to attend to someone. Thanks!"

Without checking to see whether Paul agreed or not (though he had no real choice), Father strode across the house to the entryway. Professor Odoaker was still outside, curiously examining the National Socialist flag hanging from the little wall-mounted pole.

"Fascinating symbol," he said, referring to the black swastika centred in the white disk. "A most ingenious and aesthetically pleasing display of rotational symmetry – on four axes, no less!"

"Er…" Father mumbled, unsure of what to say in response. He settled for a salute and a "Heil Hitler."

Odoaker imitated Father and returned the National Socialist salute. "Heil Hitler," he said cheerfully, as if he had just discovered something new and exciting.

"Now, Herr Heydrich. Let us return to business and discuss the matter of your son Dieter's education," asserted the Professor, who nodded slightly in Dieter's direction and smiled. "I'd like to speak to you wife too – should we talk outside or someplace warmer?" he added as an afterthought.

"Well… she's baking and a bit busy–"

"Oh, I am sorry. I appear to have arrived at an inopportune moment, Herr Heydrich, but unfortunately, my time is rather limited and this matter cannot wait."

"Right…" hesitated Father. "Well, _come inside_. Please."

"Thank you, sir," Odoaker said. He wiped off the bottom of his boots on the doorstep and walked inside. "Do you want me to remove my shoes, or should I leave them on?"

Mutti would have insisted that they come off, but Father either forgot that or didn't want to inconvenience the stranger. After all, he was (supposedly) a representative of important school, and one that had an interest in one of his children no less.

"Please, take a seat," Father offered, to which the visitor obliged by sitting in the chair opposite of the sofa, and setting his briefcase on the coffee table. Before Father disappeared into the kitchen, he said, "Excuse me for a moment, I'll be back in a minute…"

Dieter was on the sofa and left alone in the sitting room with Professor Odoaker. The Durmstrang Deputy Rector said nothing, and merely examined the room, looking at the potted plants and the pictures framed in the wall–

"WHAT?" Dieter heard his mother shout. "Can't you see I'm busy…? What? _Durmstrang…?_ All right, all right. Paul! Marie! Watch the cake! Keep it in the oven for another fifteen minutes, but not one more – I don't want you to spoil your brother's birthday!"

A few moments later, Dieter's parents emerged into the sitting room – Mutti looked rather flustered. Professor Odoaker stood up from the chair and offered his hand to shake. The adults made their introductions and then took their seats.

"And I'm sorry about my bird, Sleipnir," Odoaker added, having noticed the scars on Father's index finger and knuckles. "He sometimes gets a little overexcited, but he's never failed to deliver or receive any messages yet."

The professor suddenly clapped his hands together, and he announced with a broad smile, "So, I assume you want to learn more about Durmstrang Institute?"

Dieter looked at both of his parents sitting to either side of him on the sofa. They looked just as stunned as he – there was something indescribably _strange_ about the visitor, and the red robe did nothing to help.

"Yes," Father answered, and cleared his throat. "It's all been very odd, and we're quite confused. You see, an ow–"

Odoaker quickly waved his hand and interrupted, "Of course, I'd imagined you would be. I suspect you were expecting a _carrier pigeon_, rather than an owl." He laughed at his strange joke, but Father just stared.

Then it was the Durmstrang professor's turn to clear his throat. He looked slightly bothered by Dieter and his parents' behaviour.

And the feeling was mutual.

"Do you need something to drink, Professor Odoaker?" Mutti offered. "We have water, coffee, tea–"

"No, no. I'm quite fine," Odoaker said, regaining his posture. "I am going to tell you about our institution, and if you have any questions, any at all, please do not hesitate to ask."

He waited expectantly for Dieter's parents to nod in confirmation before continuing, "Durmstrang is a boarding school founded by Count Sven Thorsten Ulrich von Durmstrang in the year 1135. It is a castle built in the mountains – _beautiful scenery_. Anyway, Count Durmstrang founded his school to teach promising students who exhibited powerful and unique abilities, which your son Dieter possesses.

_Powerful and unique abilities? There's something odd about the wording, there,_ Dieter thought.

Mutti must have been thinking the exact same thing. She cleared her throat (there seemed to be a lot of that going on that morning) and asked, "Er… what are these 'unique abilities' that Dieter has?"

Professor Odoaker took a deep breath. With total and utter seriousness, he said, "Magic. The full name of our school is Durmstrang Institute for _Magical Learning_. Dieter is a wizard, and he can do magic."

There was a stunned silence in the sitting room. The only noise heard was some heavy breathing and Marie's panicked query about the location of the oven mittens coming from the kitchen…

Dieter's mind was racing. _Magic? Me, a wizard? Absolutely ridiculous – that's impossible. Magic doesn't exist. This isn't the Middle Ages! There isn't anything that can't be explained with logic or science._

_Aha!_ thought another voice in his head, and Dieter had no idea where it came from. _So, how would you explain Herr Strichleiter's invisible house with the self-repairing windows? Very odd if you ask me…_

Dieter was shaken out of those disturbing thoughts by his father's chuckles, which grew to a crescendo of laughter.

"A-a wizard? Magic? I knew this whole thing was a joke!" Father's face was red, but more out of embarrassment than out of anger. "I can't believe we took you this seriously – we should have just left you outside! Congratulations, _Professor_. Congratulations. You've just made complete fools of us…"

Father finished his diatribe with a sarcastic applause, and shook his head sadly. "Please, leave. Just go. We've wasted enough of our time on you already – let us celebrate Dieter's birthday without your interference."

Odoaker's face was red too. Unsteadily, he said, "I a-assure you that I am definitely not joking. Magic is real. And I can prove it."

Father stood up. "No," he declared. "We're not in any mood to see any magic tricks – if we wanted a magician to perform, we would have hired one. Since we didn't, please just go and leave us alone."

The Durmstrang professor got up from his seat, but his expression was suddenly serious. "Now, Herr Heydrich, please think of what you are doing. Think about your son. He has the opportunity to have a free education at the best magical institution in Europe! At least have the patience to hear what I have to say."

Dieter's father prepared a strong retort, but Dieter shouted, "DAD!"

Vati seemed to have forgotten that Dieter was in the sitting room with him – sometimes, his old war instincts were very strong, shutting off the rest of the world to concentrate solely on the target in front of him.

"Yes?" he asked, slightly stunned.

Dieter sighed – he didn't like to disagree with his father. "I'm curious. I'd like to hear more about Durmstrang, and if magic does exist, I think that might answer some questions."

"Thank you, Master Heydrich," Professor Odoaker said, relieved. "May I?"

Herr Heydrich slowly nodded, and both men retook their respective seats. "Now, I will prove to you that what I say is true – magic exists, and it is very real."

Father snorted, Mutti was silent and expressionless, but Dieter sat up straighter on the sofa. As much as his sensible mind thought otherwise, he wanted to be proven wrong.

Professor Odoaker reached into his robes and pulled out something long, thin, and wooden. Dieter suddenly realised what the stick Herr Strichleiter had held in his face a month earlier was.

"This is my wand," the strange 'wizard' explained – but the earlier awkwardness was gone and he adopted a stronger, more businesslike tone. "It is twelve and three quarter inches of semi-flexible oak, nine sixteenths of an inch at the base and tapering to three eighths at the tip. A long, narrow portion of the centre is hollowed out, and contains a griffin feather as its core. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"Of course. Try me – let's see how gullible I am," Father challenged.

"Very well," Odoaker agreed. He lightly flicked his wand in the direction of the kitchen and muttered something under his breath. "Now, Frau Heydrich, would you mind calling your children from the kitchen?"

She had no idea what that was supposed to accomplish, but complied anyway. "Paul! Marie! Lena! How's the cake? Could you come here please?"

Nothing happened. She waited for a few moments before calling a second time, then a third time.

"Could they have gone outside?" Mutti suggested. Father's thoughts were much more pessimistic: "What have you done to them?"

"Nothing more than sound blocking charm to ensure the privacy of this conversation – a highly useful spell. You can try calling them as much as you want, but for as long as the spell lasts, nobody outside of this room will be able to hear us."

Fully knowing that Dieter's parents (or at least his father) were not convinced, Professor Odoaker declared that he would perform more obvious and spectacular magic.

"So, Herr Heydrich. Tell me, what do you want me to do?"

"Pardon?"

"You want to see some magic? Then what magic do you want to see?"

A fiendish grin appeared on Vati's face. "All right. I want you to wave your wand and make me a rich man and promote me to town Arbeitsleiter."

Odoaker was not amused. "No. There are some things I cannot and _will not _ do, and that is one of them. How about I tickle you instead?"

"WHAT?" Father objected.

_"Rictusempra,"_ the Professor said in a loud, clear voice.

There was a jet of silver light, and Father was overwhelmed by an outburst of high-pitched giggling. Dieter's eyes were open in alarm – he had never seen his father laugh like that before.

"Ha ha he ha p-please-ha st-stop ha tha-at!"

Odoaker lifted the spell and told the exhausted Herr Heydrich, "Do you need any more convincing? I could, say, light the table on fire, but that would make a mess of things."

"But how do I know it wasn't my wife tickling me when I wasn't looking?" Vati wheezed, still giggling. "Show me everything you can."

"Yeah! I'd like to see a lot of magic," Dieter said enthusiastically. This was starting to be very exciting. _I'm a wizard?_ His mind was just beginning to wrap itself around that curious concept.

Professor Odoaker seemed to be enjoying himself. He made the coffee table walk around the sitting room, turned a vase into a real, live penguin, and even lit his own hair on fire, but both he and his hair came out completely unscathed. It was an impressive yet totally bizarre spectacle.

"I'm starting to wonder whether my coffee has been tampered with," Vati joked when the tricks were over, but he was smiling. "So… does this mean there is a God, too?"

_"That_… is a matter of personal preference, but the existence of magic is not debatable. I can perform it and your son can perform it, and that is why we would like to teach him to harness his magical potential at Durmstrang Institute."

"But Professor Odoaker," Mutti said, "how do you know Dieter is a wizard? We've never seen him do anything unusual or out of the ordinary… in the magical sense."

"We have ways of tracking magical births, but Dieter is a wizard, even if it is not immediately apparent. You see, all witches and wizards have magical energy inside of them, but under most circumstances, it cannot be harnessed and directed without the help of one of _these…"_ He showed them his oak wand, and continued:

"Young magical children have been known to perform acts of wandless magic, but only when under great stress or in perilous situations – it is the same for adults. So, unless Dieter has been living a highly dangerous young life, he has most likely never displayed obvious magic that would attract attention, like blowing things up."

_Blowing things up? Wow!_ Dieter thought excitedly.

"However, many Muggle-born children–"

"Wait, _'Muggle?'_ What's that?" Father interrupted.

"I'm sorry, I should have explained earlier. 'Muggle' is a word that wizards refer to non-magical persons. But as I was saying, that with Muggle-born children completely ignorant of the existence of magic, it is not uncommon to perform minor magic without realising it, or only by passing it off as some strange accident. Now, Master Heydrich, with that in mind, could you think of anything you might have done with the aid of magic?"

Dieter thought for a moment. "Well, in snowball fights, I'm very good at avoiding getting hit. I've also completely escaped injury in some situations where my friends didn't – there was one time when me and my friends were riding bicycles on a path and one of us hit a big rock and caused everyone to crash. Karl broke his arm, and even the bicycle I was riding was bent out of shape, but I didn't even suffer a scratch!"

The Durmstrang Professor nodded pensively. "Of course. Witches and wizards usually have better reflexes than Muggles, and are usually luckier – yes, Luck is a form of magic. It is a very mysterious and elusive force, but it does exist. Now, I'm going to prove that you too can perform magic. Would you mind standing, Master Heydrich?"

Dieter stood, unsure of what was going to happen. He was even more confused when Professor Odoaker handed him his wand. It felt strangely warm in his hand, but then Dieter reminded himself that Odoaker had been holding it and it was just residual heat.

"What do you want me to do? I don't know any spells," he said.

"You don't need to. Just hold that wand tightly."

On that enigmatic note, Professor Odoaker delivered a kick to Dieter's shin.

"OW!" he shouted in pain, but from the wand in his right hand shot a jet of angry red sparks. Distracted totally from the pain in his leg, he exclaimed, "Wow! Did you see that?"

Mutti nodded fervently.

Odoaker asked for his wand back, and Dieter handed it over carefully. His mind was racing, unable to believe what he had just done. _Magic… I just did magic!_

There was a thoughtful silence, but then Father asked, "This is all incredibly extraordinary, Professor Odoaker… but what is the point?"

"Pardon?"

"What is the purpose of learning magic? What use is it to be able to shoot red sparks, or turn vases into penguins? It is all very interesting, but how will that prepare Dieter for adulthood? How would it help him get a job? How will it help him serve his country? That's what I'm asking."

"An excellent question, Herr Heydrich. But I think I must ask you a question in return: why is it that you have never known about magic until today?"

Father didn't have any answer. "Er…" he mumbled.

Professor Odoaker explained, "You see, International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was signed in 1689, and for the last two hundred forty-nine years since, witches and wizards throughout the world have been living in hiding, in a sort of parallel society totally invisible to Muggle eyes. Wizards have their own currencies, laws, their own kinds of jobs… just imagine that hidden out of sight there is a thriving and functioning community who live completely normal lives, but just with magic.

Now, most witches and wizards consider magic completely normal, because their parents were just like them. Your son here is a relatively uncommon but by no means unheard of case, in which he was born to non-magical parents, making him Muggle-born. But, with the proper training, he can be just as skilled a wizard as anyone else. He could become a magical Healer, or a wizarding banker, or even a dragon keeper – the possibilities are endless."

"Dragons?" Dieter asked, awed. He knew Paul would like that.

"Yes, of course. We have dragons, griffins, unicorns… these creatures are known to Muggles only in myths and stories, but they do exist, just hidden from view. But as I was saying, the wizarding world is just as complex and diverse as the Muggle one, and all the magic your son will learn have practical applications."

When nobody spoke for a moment, he added, "Do you need to discuss this among yourselves before making a decision?"

Vati looked at his son and said, "Well Dieter, this is your future we're talking about. Would you like to learn magic at Durmstrang?"

It didn't take long to make up his mind; he remembered the fountain of red sparks he had created only minutes before and wondered what else he could learn to do. With little hesitation, he decided, "Yes."

Professor Odoaker smiled.

"But remember, Dieter, Durmstrang is a boarding school, right?" Mutti said, and the Professor nodded. "You'll be spending a long time from home, and you wouldn't see any of us or your friends for months at a time. Is that what you want to do?"

Dieter hadn't thought of that. He had been so excited of the possibility of learning magic that he hadn't considered the fact that he would be doing so _alone_ - no Hans to tease him, or Paul or Marie to help with homework, or friends to talk to in class. He would be a complete stranger among other strangers… but if they were going to be just as lost and confused as he, how bad could it be?

"Yes," Dieter resolved. "And it would be a good opportunity to make new friends."

Vati nodded approvingly. "I suppose that settles it."

"And you say that Durmstrang is free?" asked Mutti.

"Of course," replied Odoaker. "It is almost entirely paid for by the state – this includes food, housing, teacher's salaries, and other expenses. However, your equipment: textbooks, uniforms, and most importantly, your _wand_, will have to be purchased, but this is all a very small price to pay for seven years of free education. Now if you don't have any more questions, we can move on to the unpleasant business of signing forms."

Dieter's parents agreed, and Professor Odoaker opened his briefcase with his wand. He pulled out a small stack of documents of the same thick parchment as the Durmstrang acceptance letter, and placed them on the coffee table.

"Herr, Frau, and Master Heydrich, please read this form carefully, then sign at the bottom. This is your statement permitting Durmstrang Institute of Magical Learning to educate young Master Heydrich…"

The forms went on and on; legal forms, financial forms, medical forms, and Dieter and his parents signed all of them. Once finished with the last one, Father pointed at the triangular symbol that appeared at the top of each parchment. "I've been meaning to ask, what exactly is this sign?"

"It's the emblem of Das Zweite Zaubererreich," Odoaker explained. "If you recognised it, then that means we have a serious problem with our Statute of Secrecy!"

"Wait, the _Second Wizarding Reich?"_ Father asked. Those words sounded strange to him, and to Dieter too.

"Indeed. The first Reich collapsed in 1689, but I won't bore you with a history lesson. However, you have to understand that things are different in the wizarding world – we have our own separate and unique history, culture, and government. It's impossible to explain in just one day, but I think it would be enlightening if I showed you."

"Showed us? How?" Mutti asked.

Professor Odoaker put the signed documents back in his briefcase. He locked it with his wand, stood up from his chair, and answered, "By shopping for school supplies, of course. Are you ready?"

"What – _now?_ Couldn't we do this on our own time? When does term start?"

"On the first of September next year. It is a Durmstrang tradition to admit students on their eleventh birthday."

"That gives us almost a whole year!" Father argued.

Odoaker shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you cannot just buy wands and spell books _anywhere_. Even if I gave you precise directions to suitable wizarding settlements, you will have no way of reaching it, since both of you are Muggles and your son is an inexperienced wizard without a wand. If you want to get school supplies, you'll have to be accompanied by me. And besides, I am here now. I've already interrupted one of your days; I don't want to inconvenience you for a second time."

"But… what about Dieter's _birthday?"_ Mutti stressed. "Couldn't we do this on another day?"

"And I have to go to work in a half hour," Father added, noticing the time. He had planned on celebrating Dieter's birthday before he had to go to the meeting with the Gemeinschaftsleiter later that morning, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen.

"Mutti, I'm fine," Dieter assured her. "This is all very exciting! And we can always have cake in the evening when we get back. I'd like to go. Can we, please?"

It was hard to refuse when Dieter was so obviously brimming with enthusiasm. Father sighed and said, "All right. I need to go to work – I've never really liked shopping anyway. But Dear, you go with Dieter and Professor Odoaker to get school supplies."

Not caring that the Durmstrang professor was there in the sitting room and watching, Dieter hugged Vati around the waist. "Thanks! I wish you could come with us."

"Well, I've had enough excitement for today," Vati chuckled half-heartedly to hide his disappointment, which Dieter fortunately didn't catch. "First I learn that magic exists and you are a wizard, and then I sign your application to a magic school. That's all I can take in one day…

Dieter threw a coat on and hastily his donned shoes, but the next ten minutes crawled by excruciatingly slowly. Dieter paced about the sitting room impatiently. His mind was bursting with anticipation, and he was itching to go to the wizarding market to get a wand. _A MAGIC WAND. And there'll be cake when I get back! When do we go?_

Finally, his parents were ready – Mutti in her best clothes for the magical excursion with Dieter and Professor Odoaker, and Father with his NSDAP armband for the meeting. He kissed her on the cheek. "Tell me everything when I get back. And have lots of fun, Dieter."

Father patted him on the shoulder, smiled, and headed out the door with his briefcase.

"Are you ready to go?" Odoaker asked.

Dieter nodded vigorously, but Mutti a little less so.

"Then follow me."

* * *

**Note:** In case any of you were left scratching your head (as I noticed in one review), "Israelite" refers to the ancient Hebrews, rather than modern Israelis. The term was used sometimes in Nazi propaganda for variety's sake, which is the same reason why it was included at the beginning of this chapter.


	6. Gellert Grindelwald Platz

Hello!

I've drawn some pictures for this story, which you'll find below. However, this site automatically deletes any links, so if you want to look at them, copy and paste these URL addresses into the address bar, **and delete ALL the spaces in-between.** If you do it right, you should be able to see the pictures.

**Mitternachtsmannschaft:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /Mitternachtsmannschaft. jpg

**Dieter Heydrich in Deutsches Jungvolk (DJ) uniform:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /DieterHeydrich. jpg?t= 1222232132

**Dieter as Josef Stalin - joke picture for Halloween:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /DieterHalloween. jpg?t= 1225498101

Enjoy!

_Pseudonym Sam  
_

* * *

**Chapter VI: Gellert Grindelwald Platz**

Instead of heading out the door, Professor Odoaker walked over to the fireplace that was adorned with various framed photographs.

"Aren't we going to go get school supplies?" Dieter asked, bewildered.

Odoaker said, "Of course we are." He seemed to be enjoying himself as he beckoned Dieter and his mother to stand by the fireplace with him. "Please do not be alarmed," he cautioned.

He aimed his wand into the empty fireplace and said, _"Incendio."_ Instantly, there was a roaring fire, fuelled by absolutely nothing. A wall of warm air shot out, messing up Mutti's hair which she had spent the last five minutes combing.

Dieter had absolutely no idea what lighting a magic fire was supposed to accomplish, but it was exciting all the same.

Professor Odoaker reached into his crimson robes and extracted a small sack about the size of a clenched fist. He untied the top to reveal a brilliant green powder – he took a pinch and threw it into the flames, and the most curious thing happened.

The fire turned _green_. Mutti gasped.

"Wow, Professor!" Dieter said excitedly. He suddenly wanted some of that powder, so he could light his cooking fires green on Deutsches Jungvolk campouts. He could imagine the stunned, possibly jealous expressions on his friends' faces…

"W-why is the fire _green?"_ Frau Heydrich asked nervously.

"This… is Floo Powder," Odoaker explained, showing them the little sack. He tied it shut, returned it to his pockets, and continued, "It creates a magical passageway of sorts, linking magical fireplaces to each other. Now, as this is a Muggle household, I've only obtained a temporary Floo licence for it today. You can pay to have your house fully connected to the network, but I don't see any real point."

_A passageway?_ Dieter had no idea how the fire in the fireplace could be used as a form of transportation. "How does it work?" he asked.

As if gripped by some insane impulse, Professor Odoaker ducked his head and walked straight into the emerald flames. "Like this," he demonstrated as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

The expected screams of pain and the smell of burning flesh and wool (or whatever his cloak was made of) never materialised. The green flames seemingly had no effect on Professor Odoaker whatsoever – he leaned over and stuck his head out of the opening. "Please, come in. We're not going anywhere if you stay in the sitting room."

"But, how are we going to _fit?"_ Frau Heydrich asked, hoping that she could avoid such a bizarre ordeal.

"Don't worry. It's quite spacious, actually – I used an internal enlargement spell."

Ignoring every reasonable part of his brain that told him otherwise, Dieter took a tentative step into the fireplace. The menacing green flames licked his foot, but there was no burning pain – it was actually quite relaxing, like taking a warm bath, but with all of his clothes on and without the water.

With no harm befalling his foot, he ducked fully into the fireplace. He was surprised that it was just the right size to fit three standing people inside. A few seconds later, Mutti arrived, muttering about just how unfathomably weird everything was.

"Now what do we do?" Dieter asked.

"You simply say where you want to go. However, since you have absolutely no idea where that happens to be, I will do the honours. Please hold on to me."

Dieter grabbed Odoaker's hand, and he felt his mother seize the other one.

"Ready? Good." Professor Odoaker took a deep breath and said in a loud, clear voice, _"Gellert Grindelwald Platz!"_

Like a worm plucked out of the earth by a bird, the Professor was irresistibly sucked upward through the chimney. Dieter hardly had any time to react before he was yanked upwards too. Behind him, Mutti let loose a surprised squeak.

The human chain shot through a long tunnel of different chimneys. Through the swirling green flames, Dieter caught some glimpses of rooms through the fireplace openings that flew by.

Then they landed – Mutti first and Professor Odoaker last. Dieter couldn't figure out how they had been travelling up but had arrived travelling down without any change of direction or orientation.

_Well, it's magic!_ That was the only explanation.

Dieter's mother staggered out first. She patted the soot off her dress the best she could and muttered darkly to herself about having to do some washing and ironing.

Once out of the fireplace (which was now devoid of green flames), Dieter took in his surroundings.

He was in a small room, and it was a very unremarkable one. The walls were bare brick and the floor was of stone, and there was absolutely no furniture of any kind, save for a vase in a corner filled with Floo Powder. There were no windows to speak of, and the only way out was through a thick wooden door at the other end of the room.

"Is everyone all right?" the Professor asked.

Dieter nodded. "That was… _fun!_ And really weird too!"

"More like 'terrifying'," Mutti suggested. "And now my best dress is all messed up!"

"Don't worry. That can be easily fixed." Professor Odoaker waved his wand and said some spell, and Mutti's clothes straightened themselves out and became spotlessly clean. He then walked over to the door, and Dieter and Mutti followed. "Ready?" he asked.

They both answered, "Yes."

Professor Odoaker told hold of the wrought iron handle and opened the thick door with a flourish. "Welcome… to Gellert Grindelwald Platz!"

Without invitation, Dieter hurried through the door and outside into the brilliant sunshine. "Wow," he uttered. It was the only thing he could say, and that simple word was quite appropriate.

Dieter was in a magnificent town square, far larger and grander than Adolf Hitler Platz back home. The square was packed with a multitude of people in colourful robes and cloaks, carrying bags or leading small children by the hand. "Mutti, Mutti! I want to get a broomstick! I want one _now!"_ one nearby child whined, earning him a scolding.

Surrounding the square on all sides were shops of various shapes and sizes – there were tall and skinny medieval half-timber buildings, and large and imposing modern ones of marble and granite. Spaced here and there were snow-covered trees, and in the centre of the square was a large fountain with a statue, whose features were obscured by a sheet of water cascading from the top. Dieter's curiosity moved him closer to get a better look.

There was a marble pedestal with an inscription in a language Dieter didn't understand; it looked like Latin. On top of the pedestal was a statue was of an armoured knight or king of some kind, whose visor was up to reveal a bearded face. He was mounted on the back of a winged lion with the head and front talons of an eagle – a griffin. From the tip of the rider's wand, which he held aloft like a sword, flowed the water that splashed back into the coin-littered pool below.

"Would you like to try to throw a coin into the griffin's mouth?" Professor Odoaker asked – Dieter had been so absorbed in the scenery that he almost forgot he was with the Durmstrang Professor and his mother. "It's good luck if you get it in."

Dieter said he didn't have any money, but Mutti solved that problem by giving him a Reichspfennig. "Make a wish, she said."

The problem was, he couldn't think of what to wish. Would he rather have a Messerschmitt Bf 109 fighter plane or his own Zeppelin? Or how about a Panzerkampfwagen II tank? _Oh, the agony of choice!_

In the end, Dieter wished for all of them. Before throwing the little coin, he suddenly noticed how small the griffin's open mouth was. Without feeling too confident, he threw.

The Pfennig bounced off the griffin's head and plopped into the water.

"Well, don't feel too bad," Professor Odoaker said sympathetically. "I've never met anyone who's made it on their first try. But, we ought to be going – we should go to the bank first to convert your Muggle money, so if you will follow me…"

The bank looked like a smaller version of the Reichstag, complete with tall windows and a granite portico with _Große Greif-Bank_ inscribed on the frieze. Hung in-between the front columns were a series of tall red banners, each adorned with the triangular symbol with the inscribed circle and line. Behind the banners were a pair of towering doors of sculpted bronze, and standing by the opening were two exceedingly short individuals with pointed ears.

"Don't be alarmed. They're only goblins," Professor Odoaker said, noticing Dieter and Mutti's surprised expressions.

Both of the goblins flanking the entrance held long, thin, flexible golden rods. Clearly bored, they scanned the party with their instruments. "Have a nice day-_wait!"_ one of the goblins suddenly yelped – his golden rod was making a _ping!ping!ping!ping!_ sound. "There is a Squib in this group!"

Odoaker faced the goblin and said sternly, "Frau Heydrich is my personal guest. Now, return to your business and do not bother us again."

"My a-apologies, sir," the goblin stammered, while trying to make himself look as small and insignificant as possible.

Once inside the bank's marble halls and out of earshot of the goblin, Mutti asked Professor Odoaker, "The little man called me a 'Squib' – what does that mean?"

The Professor paused for a moment before replying delicately, "It's… just another word for 'Muggle,' a non-magical person."

Mutti frowned, and Dieter could figure out why. The word 'Muggle' sounded rather harmless and cuddly even, but 'Squib' just had a harsh tone that Dieter couldn't quite describe.

Professor Odoaker seemed to have read their minds. "Don't worry; politeness is a foreign word for goblins. I've never met one I've liked, but unfortunately, you just have to deal with them."

He said that last sentence in a whisper, and Dieter suddenly saw why. Goblins didn't just guard the door. There was a goblin behind each and every one of the handsome wooden counters along the walls, sitting on tall chairs to at a more comfortable height for the towering humans. The one they approached was busy making calculations with an abacus, and the Professor cleared his throat to get his attention.

The little goblin behind the counter looked up from his work. It bore a strong resemblance to a Jew. Its nose was too big for its face, and its little eyes looked like black marbles. It also had long, thin fingers of just the perfect length to wrap around someone's neck and strangle them with. Dieter felt an involuntary shudder run down his spine.

"What do you want?" the Hebraic goblin asked, irked.

"Frau Heydrich here," Professor Odoaker announced, indicating Dieter's mother, "would like to make a currency exchange – Muggle Reichsmarks to ZZR Griffins."

_"Muggle_ money? Very well. The exchange rate is three and a quarter Reichsmarks to the Griffin, and the transaction fee is two percent of the total conversion. Declare your amount."

Mutti reached into her purse, and pulled out her wallet. "How much exactly, does a wand, book, and other school supplies cost altogether?"

Professor Odoaker thought for a moment before hesitantly answering, "Depending on whether you buy your supplies as new versus second-hand, about fifteen Griffins, give or take two or three Griffins higher and lower. I'm sorry, but I've never been particularly good at this sort of thing."

"So, how much would that be in Reichsmarks?" Frau Heydrich asked the goblin.

The creature's thin fingers slid the beads on the abacus around, and answered, "To give you an idea, fifteen Griffins comes out to forty-nine Reichsmarks and seventy-three Reichspfennig, with the tax included, Madam."

Mutti did some mental calculations and declared, "I would like to exchange fifty Reichsmarks, then."

The beads on the abacus slid around some more. "That amounts to fifteen Griffins and one Badger."

She handed over two twenty-Reichsmark notes and a ten. The goblin accepted them and returned a small stack of gold and silver coins of different sizes, and a bronze coin that looked a little out of place when put next to its lustrous companions. "Two three-Griffin coins and nine one-Griffins for a total of fifteen, plus one Badger. Sign here."

The goblin slid a piece of parchment across the counter, and provided a bottle of ink and a quill…

Dieter amused himself by examining the wizarding coins – he paid absolutely no attention to his mother signing complicated paperwork, or agreeing to create a bank account for him.

The Badger was the sole bronze coin, about one and a half centimetres wide. Predictably, it had an image of a Badger on its face, with the value written above and the date minted below. The Griffin had two types of coin – the silver version was probably some two and a half centimetres wide and worth one Griffin, whereas the gold version was about the same size as the Badger, but worth three times the amount of the silver Griffin. On the back of every coin was the exact same design: that triangular symbol with _"Zweites Zaubererreich"_ at the top and _"Für Das Größere Wohl" _ below it.

"Dieter," Mutti said, bringing his brain back into the wider world. "You have to sign here."

Dieter had never written with a quill before, and his signature was far from handsome. The quill felt strange in his hand, and the sharp tip stabbed into the parchment a few times when he pressed too hard.

"What did I just sign?" he asked a few seconds later.

It was his agreement of some sort about his new wizarding bank account, his mother explained. And it had a grand total of five Griffins in it.

"Splendid," Professor Odoaker announced. "Now that that's done with, we can move on to the more exciting things. Please follow me."

They passed the goblins guarding the door (who tactfully avoided scanning them with their golden rods) on their way outside. "I don't like goblins," Mutti said flatly. "They're just too… creepy."

"You're not the only one who thinks that way. There are those in the Zaubererreich's government who want them removed and replaced with honest, hardworking witches and wizards, but I'm not here to talk about politics," Professor Odoaker said. He reached into his briefcase and gave Frau Heydrich yet another piece of parchment. "Now, here is the list of school supplies Dieter will need in September of next year."

Mutti read the list, then handed it to Dieter:

_Durmstrang Institute of Magical Learning_

_School supplies_

_General equipment:_

_One wand  
At least two Durmstrang plain crimson work robes  
At least one Durmstrang winter coat  
One pair of work gloves (dragon hide is preferred)  
Parchment  
At least one quill  
Ink_

_Textbooks:_

_Defensive Magic for Beginners  
Das Erste Zaubererreich - A History of Magic Before 1689  
Introduction to Transfiguration  
Simply Charming - Useful Spells for Beginners  
Magical Herbs and Their Care  
Potion Making, Year One  
Guide to the Stars and Planets_

_Durmstrang Institute provides the following supplies for each student, and the purchase of personal items is optional:_

_One pewter cauldron (size 3½)  
One measuring scale  
One telescope_

_Students desiring to bring pets must obtain clearance for the animal by 25 August 1939._

_~ Theoderich Odoaker  
Deputy Rector_

"Why do pets need to be cleared by the school first?" Dieter asked curiously.

Professor Odoaker chuckled. "Simple, really. It's to ensure that no students bring anything dangerous to the castle. The rule has been in place since 1453, ever since that boy brought a dragon to the school."

"A _dragon?"_ Dieter said, astounded.

"Of course. You'll hear all about it at Durmstrang – it's a great story. Now, I say we go get your uniform first, so if you'll follow me…"

He led them past a line of strange shops – an apothecary, an inn, and a place that sold owls and doubled as some sort of post office. Dieter noticed that every building bore the red banner with the triangular emblem, and some had posters that he didn't have time to read.

Professor Odoaker led them to a claustrophobic shop called _The Spinster – Spinning Since 1234 A.D._ Inside were racks upon racks of both colourful and reserved fabrics, and very little space in-between. An old tall, skinny woman with large glasses greeted them: "Hello there, I am Frau Näherin. Are you going to Durmstrang, little boy?"

_Little boy?_ Dieter thought he was of average height for his age. He answered "Yes" nonetheless.

"Good, good, good, good, good…" she muttered to herself. Then she instructed Dieter to stand on the little box in the corner. There were several tall mirrors, and at a certain angle, there appeared to be a million Dieter Heydrichs in the shop. "Let's start with your work robes. Now, put your arms _UP!"_

Dieter followed all of the woman's (he forgot her name) instructions. He stood as still as a statue while the seamstress measured him and draped various lengths of crimson cloth over him. She tut-tutted and fussed, and Dieter found himself getting bored – impossibly, Mutti was looking on with fascination. _What do you expect? Girls…_ he thought.

The self-levitating scissors and sewing needles were mildly distracting, but overall, it was an extraordinarily dull hour and a half. Apparently, there were some things that magic couldn't change, and the boredom of clothes shopping was one of them.

Finally, his uniforms were "juuust _perfect!"_ Dieter privately had to admit that he looked rather good, though he would have preferred a much shorter wait. The Durmstrang uniforms had a slightly martial look, and the crimson was the perfect colour to accentuate just that.

Mutti paid for the school uniforms and they next moved on to buy books from _Hoffman's_, which was a much more satisfying experience than purchasing his robes. None of the shelves were stocked with any books that would be found in a normal bookshop, not even _Mein Kampf_ - confirmation to Dieter the magical world really was something totally detached from the normal world.

But packed on the shelves (and in towering stacks that seemed to defy gravity) were an unimaginable number of books – books on broomsticks, cooking potions, omen interpretation, hexes, and countless things that Dieter had never heard of. Though there were no books on tanks or fighter planes, there were some about dragons. _Let's see how much Paul likes dinosaurs after seeing this!_ Dieter thought.

On that note, he bought one of the dragon books along with his seven heavy textbooks, and the heavy load was divided among the three. He wanted to spend more time in the shop to explore, but his mother insisted that they move on. They stopped by the stationery shop and left with several stacks of parchment and other writing supplies.

"Now, Frau Heydrich, would you like to get the optional Potions and Astronomy supplies, or would the equipment supplied by the school suffice?"

Predictably, she replied that she would rather save her money. Having lived through the years of economic chaos under those fools of Weimar, Mutti knew how to stretch her Marks (or in this case, Griffins) as far as they would go.

"I suppose there's all you to do now is purchase your wand."

That, in addition to that fighter plane he failed to wish himself, was what Dieter had been looking forward to the most.

The wand shop was adjacent to a place that sold brooms, which had a group of young boys and girls looking through the window, noses pressed to the glass. Dieter looked on curiously to see what they were ogling at.

"Look at that new Speer 130 – your Volksbesen won't stand a chance against that!" one child teased.

"That's not true!"

Dieter felt Mutti's hand on his shoulder; having got his attention, she gestured to Professor Odoaker, who was expectantly waiting by the doorway of _Starkerstab's Fine Wands, est. 1587_.

"Sorry," Dieter muttered, and he went inside.

The shop was very small. There were only a couple spindly chairs and a counter, but the storage room behind it was far larger. There was a corridor of sorts flanked by towering shelves stuffed with boxes and stacks of different woods. The area between the storage room and the counter resembled a carpenter's workshop, complete with tables with different chisels, lathes, and even a fine layer of sawdust on the floor.

The wandmaker in his little workshop was a stocky man with brown hair and a very straight nose. He looked up and said, "Ah, Guten Tag, Herr Odoaker. Oak, twelve and three quarter inches, slightly bendy, and a core of griffin feather, correct?"

"Right as always," Professor Odoaker said, totally unsurprised. Dieter couldn't understand how he could be so blasé about such a display of extraordinary memory.

"But I don't recognise you, Madam," the wandmaker said to Mutti. "From whom did you purchase your wand?"

"Er…"

The wandmaker glanced at her dress and handbag, and corrected himself. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have known. I presume your son is going to Durmstrang?"

Mutti answered yes, and Professor Odoaker introduced her and Dieter to the wandmaker. "Frau and Master Heydrich, this is Herr Starkerstab, maker of the finest wands in all the Zaubererreich… or all of Europe, actually!"

Herr Starkerstab chuckled. "Ah, so I take it that you don't believe Gregorovich's claims that his wands are modelled after the famed Deathstick, then?"

"Well, even if his claims are true, his wands still can't match yours. Gregorovich needs some creativity of his own to be a good wandmaker."

Dieter joined the conversation. _"Gregorovich_… that sounds Slavic. Wouldn't that explain why his wands are worse?"

The wandmaker looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Being a Slav has nothing to do with it. It's just that he has no imagination."

Dieter was confused. Herr Starkerstab had just contradicted himself, and his explanation was simply a repetition of what Dieter had said!

Herr Starkerstab noticed the puzzled look on his face and said, "Well, enough arguing about whose wands are better – besides, we forgot to chastise Ollivander! So, Master Heydrich, which hand is your wand hand?"

"What?" Dieter asked.

"The hand you write with."

"Oh. I'm right handed."

"Right," the wandmaker said. He pulled out a piece of parchment from under a counter, placed it on top, and wrote some notes. "What's your name, first and last?" he asked.

"Dieter Heydrich; H-E-Y-D-R-I-C-H. Some people spell it wrong, with an 'i' instead of a 'y'."

"Very well," he muttered, writing that down. He then took a long, thin something out of a jar, and walked into the patron's waiting area. "Stand very still and hold your arms out straight."

Dieter was uncomfortably reminded of the horridly boring ordeal in the _The Spinster_. But dutifully, he held out his arms to make a 't.'

The long, thin, flat thing that Herr Starkerstab had was actually a measuring tape. It levitated into the air and uncoiled itself, looking something like a striped snake that had been flattened by a steamroller. The tape stretched itself out, curled up, and then back again, measuring different lengths of Dieter's body – even the distance between his nostrils. Meanwhile, the wandmaker was scratching away with a quill, taking meticulous notes.

"Now, Master Heydrich, I will be needing some of you blood."

"WHAT?" he said, terrified.

"Don't worry," Professor Odoaker said. "He's not a vampire – all he needs is a single drop."

Even so, Dieter didn't like getting poked with sharp needles. "But… _why?"_

"It's quite simple, really. By imparting a piece of yourself into your wand with that drop of blood, you make a deeply personal connection between you and your wand. This way, it is more powerful than ordinary wands when in the caster's hands, and even more unresponsive in stranger's hands that it does not trust."

The wandmaker made it sound like wands could think and had feelings. _Strange…_

"I promise you, it won't hurt…"

Dieter gave in and tentatively held out his hand. Herr Starkerstab aimed his wand at Dieter's index finger, and there was a small flash of white light. True to his word, there was absolutely no pain at all, but there was a minute cut and a drop of blood balancing on his finger.

With his wand, Starkerstab transferred the drop into a narrow glass vial with a cork at both ends, then pointed his wand at Dieter's finger and said, _"Episkey."_ The small cut magically healed itself.

"That wasn't so hard, was it? Entertain yourselves while I make your wand – it might take some time…"

Mutti heeded Herr Starkerstab's advice and talked about the technicalities of Dieter's Durmstrang education with Professor Odoaker. Dieter, however, stood by the counter to watch the wandmaker do his work.

Herr Starkerstab put the glass vial into a strange brass instrument that looked something like mixture of a coffee maker and an astrolabe. Noticing that he was being watched, he said to Dieter while doing his work, "Wandmakers in the rest of Europe, even wizards like Ollivander, just make a huge selection of random wands and hand them out to those willing to pay for them. But _here_ in the Zaubererreich, each wand is made specifically and personally for each witch or wizard. That is why German wands are the best in the world-_interesting_, look at that."

Dieter looked. The coffee-astrolabe device was spewing red steam, and the many arms and dials were pointing to different symbols and numbers. "Interesting…" the wandmaker muttered. "I have an idea of where this is going – excuse me for a moment."

Herr Starkerstab hurried back into the storage room, and emerged a minute later with some long, thin boxes marked with designations like _Eb-Gf_ or _Ok-Dh_. "These are test wands," he explained. "I use them to narrow down a person's characteristics to produce the perfect match. We will start with some wands of oak and dragon heartstring…"

He opened the box labelled _Ok-Dh_ and rooted through the wands – there were short ones and long ones, and thick ones and skinny ones. He found what he was looking for and pulled out some wands of roughly equal size and shape. "I will hand you wands, and you will tell me precisely what you feel for each. You will then wave your wand forcefully and concentrate on creating sparks? Understood?"

The wandmaker already handed Dieter the first wand before he could nod. He took the wand in his hand... and it felt like a piece of wood.

"Well, what do you feel?"

Dieter hesitated. How was he supposed to explain what a stick felt like? "Well… it fits my hand–"

"What I mean is, does it feel warm?"

"Not particularly."

"So you feel nothing – please say so in the future with the other wands. Now, give it a good wave and try to make sparks."

Dieter thought of fireworks and waved the wand around, feeling slightly ridiculous–

Herr Starkerstab snatched the wand out of Dieter's hand and put it back into the box. He scribbled some notes and gave Dieter another wand, and then another. He didn't make any sparks, but he thought that one or two of them felt slightly lukewarm in his hand.

"Good; now move on to the oak and griffin feather…"

Dieter waved wand after wand, and nothing happened for what seemed like hours. But he finally managed to produce a single spark, causing Dieter and Mutti (who had evidently stopped talking to Professor Odoaker and was watching) to cheer.

The wandmaker asked Dieter to tell him the wand's number. He examined the small writing and replied, "Eb-Dh(Nr)-13r."

_"Eb-Dh(Nr)-13r,"_ Starkerstab muttered as he scribbled down some notes. "We appear to have a match, and now all that needs to be done is make your wand…"

He consulted the coffee astrolabe device and an abacus to make some quick calculations, and went to work. He hurried to the storage room and returned with a dowel of a very dark wood. Dieter watch in fascination and eager anticipation as Herr Starkerstab sawed the dowel to the desired length and clamped both ends to the lathe, which he tapped with his wand to spin the dowel lengthwise.

The wandmaker then pressed a chisel to the rapidly spinning dowel, shaving off thin, curling layers of wood. He moved the chisel up and down the dowel's length to remove much of the wood, and then switched over to using some sort of file to smoothen it out. He repositioned the clamps and drilled an unimaginably narrow hole down the length of the dowel, starting at the thick end and stopping short of the tip.

He removed the dowel from the lathe, and opened a small box he had set aside labelled _Dh(Nr)_, and extracted some sort of red, long, thin string, and cut it shorter. Next he took the narrow vial containing the drop of Dieter's blood, held it horizontally, and uncorked both ends. In a way that reminded Dieter of his mother threading a needle, Herr Starkerstab passed the red strand through the vial, bloodying it evenly along its length.

Herr Starkerstab next put some spell on the strand and carefully inserted it into the dowel, and plugged the tiny hole in the back with an equally tiny piece of dark wood smaller than a toothpick. Lastly, he aimed his own wand at the back of the dowel, said _"Reparo,"_ and presented the newly completed wand to Dieter.

"Here you are, Master Heydrich. A wand of ebony, thirteen inches in length, rigid, and containing a core of dragon heartstring from a Norwegian Ridgeback, imbued with a single drop of your blood charmed to maintain its liquidity and potency until your death. Please try it out."

Dieter was astounded by the fine piece of craftsmanship he held in his hand - even the plug had been seated so well it was indistinguishable from the rest of the base. The handle was engraved with his name, was about one third of the total length of the wand, and slightly thicker than the shaft that tapered to a blunt point a little less than a centimetre in thickness. The wand was simple and elegant, but best of all, it was _his_ – it felt unusually warm in his hand, and Dieter had the strangest feeling that the wand was feeling impatient, just itching to prove its worth.

"Well, give it a wave," the wandmaker urged.

Dieter didn't need telling twice. He thought of fireworks, and slashed the air with the wand to perform his first act of magic.

There was a shower of brilliant red sparks. Dieter yelled in exultation and whipped the wand through the air again and again, producing jets of orange sparks, and even purple ones. Professor Odoaker and the wandmaker clapped enthusiastically, and Mutti gave Dieter a tight hug and said, "I'm so proud of you, Dieter my wizard boy!" In any other situation, he would have felt embarrassed by such a public display of affection from his mother, but not this time. This time was something else entirely.

The excitement mellowed down after several minutes, and once sobered, Mutti paid three Griffins and two Badgers for the wand. Dieter and his mother profusely thanked Herr Starkerstab for the wonderful wand, and they made their exit with Professor Odoaker.

"So, are we done?" asked his mother. It was starting to get dark.

"Just about," answered Professor Odoaker. "We just have to get your son registered."

"Registered?" Dieter asked.

"Now that you have a wand, you are now official part of the wizarding world and will be entered into the archives. Hopefully this won't take this long, but please follow me."

So they did. They weaved their way through the crowd (that showed now indication of thinning) and entered the _Volkskabinett des Zaubererreichs_, which bore some resemblance to the bank they had visited earlier, complete with the red banners.

Unlike the bank, the People's Cabinet of the Wizarding Reich had no goblins. There was a cavernous entrance hall with marble floors and fireplaces built into the walls, where wizards and witches periodically entered and exited in a blaze of green flames. Looking up, Dieter noticed that the domed ceiling was some sort of clock, but with unrecognisable symbols instead of numbers and magically suspended planets instead of hands. Mutti and Dieter followed Professor Odoaker to a desk at the far wall.

Suspended from the ceiling behind was yet another red banner, with the now-familiar triangular symbol in white and framed within a black circle. There were also several posters, one of which read:

_All Wizards are Brothers  
All Witches are Sisters_

_All wizardkind, forwards!  
For the Greater Good!_

Another poster depicted a coffin, labelled _"ICW, Statute of 1689."_ Below it was the slogan, _"For the Reclamation! For the Greater Good!"_

_That last phrase seems to be cropping up in a lot of places,_ Dieter thought. Being on all the coins and the posters, he deduced that it must be the wizarding world's motto. He was about to ask Professor Odoaker what _ICW, Statute of 1689_ meant, but he didn't get the chance. Professor Odoaker explained to the receptionist why they were there, and she replied, "First floor, corridor on the left, room 12A. And I need to see your wand and identification."

Professor Odoaker handed the woman behind the desk his wand and a folded piece of paper from his pocket. The receptionist took the wand and placed it on some sort of scale that hummed for a few seconds and produced a small square of parchment from the base, which the receptionist tore off. She read the little slip and compared it to the Professor's identification papers.

"Ok-Gf-12¾sf… that's a match. Thank you, Herr Odoaker," the receptionist said, returning his wand and identification documents.

The Professor beckoned the two Heydrichs to follow him to one of the lifts, which they used to go to the first floor. Following the receptionist's instructions, they went down the corridor on the left and entered room 12A.

Inside the room was a bored man at his desk, leaning back on his chair. He bolted upright to his feet (causing the chair to fall backwards with a loud _bang!_) when he noticed he had visitors and said, "Hello! Anything I can help you with?"

"Yes, we need to get some identification documents – new Durmstrang student," Odoaker explained.

"Of course, of course–I should have known. Please come in," he said quickly. He set his chair upright again, sat down and said to Dieter, "We're going to take your picture first, and while your portrait is being developed, we'll do all of the boring documentation. Jost!"

The head of a thin, bespectacled man appeared through one of the office doorways. "Yes?"

"Identification picture for the boy."

"Right. Please follow me, young sir," Jost instructed.

Dieter entered a small studio. There was a stool up against a blue wall, and in the middle of the room was a camera on a tripod. "I'm sure you know what to do," Jost said. "Just sit straight on that stool and stay still."

And he did. The cameraman took several pictures, and it was all over in less than a minute. Dieter thanked him and went back to the main room.

His mother was talking to the man behind the desk, who was writing down everything she said about Dieter's birthday, place of residence, and other vital pieces of information. Another fifteen minutes passed without much incident, until the man went into the back room and returned with a small stack of parchment. "Very good, Jost. That was quick!"

The man placed three identical papers on the desk for Dieter to sign. Again, it was with a quill and a bottle of ink – Dieter had no idea how long it would take to grow accustomed to such a foreign method of writing. Careful to avoid piercing the parchment like he had earlier that day, he prepared to sign the first document, but he stopped and blinked a few times.

There was the portrait that had been taken of him not too long ago, _and it was moving_ – The miniature Dieter Eckhard Heydrich in the picture frame was smiling and looked politely puzzled.

"Muggleborn, aren't you?" the man behind the desk said, reading his expression. "Yes, all pictures in the wizarding world move, so you better get used to it quickly."

The portrait was on the left side of the document, and the right side listed such essentials as his name, height, hair and eye colour, and even wand type, which was _Eb-Dh(Nr)-13r_. Dieter wrote his signature for the first copy of the document a bit clumsily, but his penmanship improved on the second and third copies as he got a better feel for writing with a quill.

"And that is all," the man announced. "We keep one of these copies, and you take the other two. These are completely free of charge, unless you lose them and need more copies – then they're five Badgers each."

"In that case, we'll make sure not to lose them. Thank you sir," Mutti said. Not entirely trusting Dieter to handle the two documents, she seized them and tucked them into her handbag.

"And now we go," Professor Odoaker said. "There are some fireplaces in the Atrium, so we'll Floo back to your house from there…"

* * *

"Thank you, Professor Odoaker for everything you have done for my son. It was very gracious of you to devote your day to us."

"It was a pleasure." He shook Dieter's hand (the Professor had a strong grip) and said, "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Master Heydrich, and I look forward to teaching you at Durmstrang. Now, do you have all of your things?"

Dieter and Mutti checked their bags – they nodded.

"Good. I'll light the fire, but do you think you can make it to your home on your own?"

"I'll do my best," Dieter resolved.

Professor Odoaker smiled. "Well then, _Incendio!"_

The fireplace burst into flames. Dieter grabbed a handful of the green Floo powder from the large pot and threw it in. The effect was instantaneous, and the fire turned a vivid green.

Much more confident than he was during the first time, Dieter stepped into the fireplace, holding hands with his mother. He turned to face the Professor and waved; then he shouted, _"Number 23, Erdnuss-Straße!"_

The view of the Atrium and Odoaker disappeared and were replaced by a swirling mass of flames and rushing bricks. A few exciting seconds later, his feet found solid ground and Dieter and his mother suddenly found themselves sprawled on the sitting room floor, having tumbled out of the fireplace.

"There you are!" Hans' voice rang. "Where have you _been?_ Father said that you two would be gone for a while but didn't say where to, but you-you… you just came in through the _fireplace!_ WHAT'S GOING ON?"

Dieter sighed. It was going to be a long night, but at least there would be birthday cake.


	7. Beobachter

Taa daa!

I've finally finished Chapter Seven, only about three months late, hurrah! Anyway, this chapter was a complete pain in the arse to write - the chapter sort of had a mind of its own, and didn't want to turn out the way I originally intended. I probably wrote and rewrote this thing four times...

Thank you so very, very much for your patience, and I apologise for keeping you waiting so long for an update. Now that the obligatory filler chapter between going to Gellert Grindelwald Platz and leaving for Durmstrang is finally finished, I can get my momentum going again! Next chapter is when Dieter goes to Durmstrang Institute, and I promise the wait will be much shorter than what you had to endure for this instalment!

Now, I have some more illustrations for you viewing pleasure, if you're interested. To view, copy and paste these URL addresses into the address bar, and delete ALL the spaces in-between.

**Sky Captain Otto von Von:**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /SkyCaptainOttovonVon. jpg?t= 1235803835

**My Crude Attempt at a Banner (Photoshop CS3):**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/albums/nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam /FrDasGrereWohlBannerv2. jpg?t= 1236218727

**A Much, Much Better Banner by Minnabird, from the Mugglenet Fanfiction Forums:**  
http: //i41. photobucket. com/albums/e277/ Medieval_Miri /fdgwstripeypng. png

Note that one Mugglenet Fanfiction, I go by 'Tim the Enchanter,' thus the use of that username in the banners.

Anyway, enjoy!

_Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter VII: Beobachter**

_"Hmm hum hmm hum hmm hmm hmm…"_

Hans was humming irritatingly, and Dieter was reading in a chair in the sitting room, being irritated. Though he wasn't allowed to perform magic without supervision or formal training, Dieter nonetheless read through his new spellbooks, trying to learn all he could before magic school began.

_"Hmm hmm hmm… Flag high, ranks closed, The SA marches with silent solid steps… hmm hum…"_

Dieter looked up from _Defensive Magic for Beginners_ and noticed Hans in the entryway, inspecting his reflection in the wall mirror. His older brother was busy combing his blond hair and fiddling with the buttons on his Hitler Youth uniform, which had an unusually large number of medals pinned to it.

That was odd. The Deutsches Jungvolk did everything with its senior branch, the Hitler Jugend, but Dieter hadn't heard of any meetings for that evening. "We don't have an assembly tonight, do we?" Dieter asked, slightly worried. What would happen if he missed a meeting? Had he been so busy reading his Durmstrang books that he lost track of his Muggle duties? He got out of the chair and prepared to bolt to his room upstairs to retrieve his uniform if he had to.

Hans looked at him from across the room and smiled evilly. "Of course we do, little idiot brother. Why do you think I'm getting dressed?"

There was something a little amiss about Hans' tone of voice – one that said that that speaker was not to be trusted or taken seriously, and after eleven years Dieter had learned to spot that. The tension of missing an imagined meeting unravelled, and he walked closer to his older brother and spied the cluster of medals on his chest. Everyone knew that Hans was a bit of a slacker, and there was no way that Hans could have earned all the awards adorning his right breast pocket by himself.

"What are you doing?" Dieter said accusingly.

"What does it look like? I'm standing here, looking thoroughly attractive." Hans then turned his attention back to the mirror.

_Attractive?_ Dieter couldn't see the appeal in Hans – from a female point of view, in a strictly heterosexual sense, of course. He was irresponsible, annoying, arrogant… what was there to like?

But Hans seemed to consider his deviancy an asset, and unfortunately, girls thought likewise. Or at least Hans _said_ they did, since Dieter never bothered to check. Judging by his older brother's very upbeat mood and wide grin, he was about to embark on a so-called 'hunting expedition.'

"…to capture a certain blonde prey with a magnificent pair of legs," Hans was saying, somewhat to himself. "Should I leave my shirt buttoned entirely to look refined, or should I loosen it up a little to emphasise my rugged good looks?" he asked.

Dieter didn't have an answer, and instead asked, "But why do you have to go out in your Hitler Youth uniform?"

Hans looked down and said condescendingly, "_Because,_ Dieter, it is one of the fundamental laws of the universe. Girls are magnetically attracted to men in uniforms, especially handsome and charming ones with lots of shiny medals, like myself. They will not be able to resist me!"

Dieter had a sudden desire to vomit on his older brother, but nothing so dramatic happened. "Why are you so weird?" Dieter asked his brother instead.

"You're asking me why _I'm_ weird?" Hans retorted with mock affront. "You're the wizard boy, Dieter, remember?"

"That I am," Dieter stated with a hint of smugness. Not only was he more intelligent, responsible, and modest than his older brother, but he could also do magic. _Well, not yet…_

He added, "Being a wizard doesn't make me weird. It just gives me unique capabilities–"

"Exactly," Hans said, "and you're wasting them. Why do you bother reading spellbooks on how to turn things blue or change needles into matchsticks, when you could instead be doing something _useful_, like discovering how to make undergarments evaporate? You're mad to not see all the endless possibilities!"

"I have better things to do, Hans," Dieter said flatly. "Unlike you, I have some ambition in life that goes beyond chasing skirts."

Indignantly, Hans replied, "Hey! Don't you mock the noble profession of gynaecology – don't say I don't have ambition."

A year ago upon Dieter's discovery of his older brother's ambition, Vati had choked on his coffee when Dieter asked him what a gynaecologist did for a living. The lecture Hans later received did nothing to dampen his spirits, since he was perfectly qualified in the perversion department. However, his medical expertise (or rather, complete lack thereof) could not measure up to his peculiar ambition.

"…Anyway, what do you have against girls, Dieter? Why don't you like them?"

"I don't see why I should," Dieter answered. "They're annoying, impossible to understand, and worst of all, they turn people like you into complete idiots."

"Idiots, huh? Well… what about Mother and your sisters? _They're_ girls, aren't they?"

Dieter was getting tired of this conversation. He muttered, "Of course they are, but they're family – it's different."

"So that means you prefer boys?"

He was about to answer "yes," but then he caught himself before any damage was done. Trust Hans to take _that_ route again... Dieter replied, "I'm not a homosexual, if that's what you're asking."

"But if you don't like girls, then you have to be," Hans teased mischievously. "I'm sure the GESTAPO will find this interesting news!"

Dieter was not amused, and Hans laughed at his younger brother's vexed expression.

"You can't fight it, Dieter. You may want nothing to do with girls at your tender young age, but one day you will go just as insane as I am over them; I guarantee it."

Dieter neither wanted nor expected that to happen to him: obviously, only unbalanced individuals with no self-discipline or common sense like his older brother would act in such a manner. Besides, Dieter saw plenty of girls at school or on Deutches Jungvolk outings, and they were little more than background scenery (_or snowball fight targets,_ he thought ruefully). He couldn't see how they could possibly exert such a bad influence on his brother, but they did it somehow.

"…Now, if we're done discussing your confused emotional state, Dieter, I have important business to attend to," Hans announced. "How do I look?"

Dieter would have liked to simply ignore his brother and return to reading his spellbook, but he dutifully looked at Hans' uniform, particularly the medals on his shirt. Some most _definitely_ were not from the Hitler Youth. One of them happened to be a black cross with flared arms of equal length, attached to a short ribbon.

"Why, _you…_"

"Yes, they're Father's," Hans said casually, looking down at the fruit salad of medals on his uniform. "Do you like this one? It's some sort of labour award and see, it features a muscular, bare-chested man with a sledgehammer. And the best part is, he looks just like me!"

Dieter could care less about the labour medal – what angered him the most was the Iron Cross, Second Class he was wearing. It had belonged to Father's late brother, who was killed in the war. Hans hadn't earned it. Hans didn't deserve it. "You can't wear that – it's not yours!" Dieter said, pointing.

"I know it isn't, but it looks good on me." He stated with swagger, grinning broadly. "Don't you agree?"

Dieter didn't offer his opinion. "If Father sees you wearing that…" He finished the sentence by miming the slashing of a throat with his hand and making an unpleasant sound – _queeek!_

"What? He'll turn me into a duck?" Hans joked, totally unconcerned. "But that's _your_ job, being the wizard boy. Anyway, since Father won't be home for another few hours, I'll stop wasting my time on you and leave. Goodbye."

Hans made for the door, but Dieter impulsively decided to get in the way. Nimbly, he darted past his brother and put himself between him and the exit.

"Get out of the way, Dieter," Hans demanded.

"No," Dieter declared. "I can't help your inane obsession with girls, but what you're doing wearing medals you didn't earn, including some of mine…" he added, spying the offending tinnies adorning Hans' chest, "…is dishonest and irresponsible. Now you take those medals off!"

"Or else what?" Hans asked.

Dieter didn't have an answer. He didn't just want to report his brother to his father, not wanting his parents to solve all his problems for him. Using force wasn't an option either – he didn't know any spells so his new wand might have just been a useless stick, and his brother was too big to tackle on his own.

"Just as I thought," Hans said in casual triumph, with Dieter unable to retort. Hans reached for the doorknob with his hand, but incredibly, the door opened on its own accord.

Hans froze at the sight of Father entering the house. "Thank heavens I'm out of the cold," he said to nobody in particular while removing his snow-covered coat. Noticing two of his sons in the entryway, he explained, "We finished the meeting early, so the Gemeinschaftsleiter let us go home."

Noticing his eldest son's elaborate choice of dress, he added, "Are you going anywhere tonight, Hans? I thought the HJ didn't have a meeting until tomorrow."

Hans avoided eye contact and stuttered a drawn out _"Errrr…"_ Dieter smiled in anticipation for the inevitable fireworks.

Father frowned. Soon enough, he examined the crop of medals pinned to his son's chest. "What are you doing?" Dieter's father demanded. He didn't raise his voice, but it was intimidating nonetheless.

There was no way out – Hans was stuck between a hammer and a hard place. With nothing to lose, he answered, "Looking handsome?"

Dieter suppressed a laugh. His father looked at him and gave him a look that said, _Go. Leave him to me._

He was disappointed. Dieter wanted to see his older brother (who had impossibly become more irritating after Dieter discovered he was a wizard) verbally dismembered, but not one to disobey, he left the entryway for his room upstairs. As he closed his bedroom door, he heard shouts from the sitting room.

Paul was on his bed opposite of Dieter's, and reading the dragon book he had purchased at Gellert Grindelwald Platz two weeks before. "Is Hans in trouble again?" Paul asked without looking up from the book.

He answered yes, and his younger brother by two years was not at all surprised. "Do you like the book?" Dieter then asked.

"Oh yes, I love it," Paul said enthusiastically, tearing his eyes off the pages to look at his older brother. "There's a LOT of information and it can be hard to read, but the best part is the pictures. They actually _move!"_

He flipped the book around and showed Dieter an illustration of a black dragon with ridges on the back of its spine. The reptilian beast didn't move much since it was currently sleeping, but its sides' slow rise and fall with its breathing was noticeable. Naturally, Dieter was already acquainted with the fact that pictures in the wizarding world moved, but he still found that fact bizarre and fascinating. He had even tried a horrible attempt at drawing a moving picture, but no amount of prodding with his wand could make it work. There was probably some spell he needed to know to do that.

"…And look at this picture," Paul said excitedly, pointing to an illustration of a dragon skeleton on a different page. "Tell me what is odd about this skeleton."

Dieter examined the picture for a moment and didn't have an answer. Paul's face seemed to glow as he proudly proclaimed, "It's a dinosaur!"

"What?"

"Dragons are _dinosaurs_," Paul repeated. "Look at this pelvis bone – it's the same shape as one found on a Tyrannosaurus Rex, or other big meat-eaters."

Dieter had no idea what a Tyrannosaur pelvis looked like, so he readily accepted his brother's conclusion. Just like how he had extensive knowledge of the war machines of the Wehrmacht, Paul similarly memorised everything there was to know about dinosaurs.

"Don't you see what this means?" Paul asked, only to receive a blank look from his older brother. "This means that dinosaurs _never went extinct!_ They evolved to be able to fly and breath fire!"

"Oh," Dieter said simply. He plopped himself on his bed and opened his spellbook on defensive magic.

Paul ignored Dieter's lack of enthusiasm and continued, "Think about it – real live _dinosaurs_… After I go to Durmstrang, I want to study dragons!"

Now Paul had Dieter's full attention. "Durmstrang?" he queried, "But you can't go to Durmstrang, Paul. You're not a wizard."

"Yes, I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I _am_," Paul insisted, causing Dieter to roll his eyes. "I'll teach myself and read all of your spellbooks if I have to, but I _will_ be going to Durmstrang too in two years."

"How do you know you'll be accepted to Durmstrang?" Dieter reasoned. "Even I didn't know until two weeks ago."

Nothing Dieter said could convince Paul that he wouldn't know whether he was a wizard or not until his eleventh birthday. His younger brother was completely and erroneously certain that he was a wizard just by his say so, and he ignored Dieter's insistence that wizards were born, not made.

Paul buried himself in the dragon book and darkly muttered something that distinctly sounded like, _just you wait and see…_

Dieter returned to his own book and practiced wand movements. With his new wand in hand, he copied the hand and wrist motions illustrated in _Defensive Magic for Beginners._ He badly wanted to accompany the flicks and jabs with some actual incantations, but he suppressed the urge to do so – he didn't want to jeopardise his spot at Durmstrang by performing unauthorised magic.

It was getting late, and Dieter decided to go to bed. He placed his spellbook on top of his bedside table, covering his incomplete and neglected homework due the next day. He then examined the calendar he had mounted on his wall.

Christmas was in a few days, but oddly, Dieter felt no sensation of anxious anticipation. All of his excitement was reserved for the first of September, 1939, when he started school at Durmstrang.

That was in nine _months._ Dieter cursed his bad luck in having been born in the winter, and fervently wished his birthday was in the summer so he could have been spared the agony of waiting. He would have to wait day after day, week after week, and month after month before he could finally learn to do magic – it was the greatest injustice in all the world.

He picked up a pen from his bedside table and crossed out another day with an X. _Just one day closer._

Dieter pulled the blankets over himself and went to sleep, eager to put those unpleasant thoughts out of his mind…

_"First Officer Heydrich!" Captain Otto von Von shouted with urgency. "There's a dragon two thousand metres to starboard, approaching us quickly! This is your area of expertise – you must protect the airship!"_

The Valkyrie cruised one thousand metres above the endless Serengeti plain, and was on a collision course with the incoming reptilian beast. Just one burst of fire from the dragon, and the airship and the crew would be done for, one of the hazards of serving aboard a craft lifted by a big silvery cigar of very flammable hydrogen.

"We're counting on you, First Officer," the Captain said. "You've never failed us yet!"

Dieter saluted, smiled broadly, and shouted, "And I don't intend to start!"

The officers in the cabin nodded approvingly. "Contact in one minute!" a lieutenant stated tensely.

There was no time to lose. Dieter left the cabin and scaled the long ladder through the gas bag to the very top of the zeppelin's frame. The view from the top was magnificent and unobstructed, but to starboard was an angry flying reptile (a dinosaur, actually), closing in at alarming speed.

Dieter rolled up his sleeves and unsheathed his wand like a sword. He aimed the wand at the dragon and shouted, "NodragonissomethinginLatinus!"

The dream fell apart after that, since Dieter didn't know any actual combat spells. His adventures on the _Valkyrie_ gave way to some other confused fantasies, and he didn't remember any of them the next morning.

* * *

Upon the realisation that Dieter was a wizard, his siblings had become obsessed with magic – they badgered him day and night to show him tricks with his wand, asked for stories about his adventure in Gellert Grindelwald Platz, and searched for magical creatures in the forest. On this particular snow-covered Saturday, the two Heydrich girls had left the warmth of the house to look for fairies, the theory being they would be easier to catch when it was cold.

Privately, Dieter found the idea of fairies repulsive. When he thought of magical creatures, he thought of dragons. He thought of huge, scaly reptilian beasts with razor claws and immolating breath. They were terrible, living engines of doom, and a thousand times more powerful than his younger brother's beloved Tyrannosaurus Rex. The very thought that tiny, annoying, girly little fairies could share the same magical world with dragons was… disturbing.

Dieter was perfectly content to let his sisters go on their fruitless search in the snow, while he enjoyed the warmth of the indoors. He was in the sitting room, curled up in a padded chair and reading another one of his textbooks for Durmstrang. He had finished _Defensive Magic for Beginners_ and was now starting on _Introduction to Transfiguration_ – however, the next spellbook gave every indication that it would not be an enjoyable read. It was dense, overly technical, and just plain boring. Perhaps he could just skim through it and move on to the next book…

Wrapped in a thick coat and scarf, Vati entered the house and spotted Dieter sitting in the chair. "Put on something warm, Dieter," he said. "There's work to do."

Whether a statement or a command, Dieter obeyed anyway. He privately grumbled as he set the book down on the coffee table and retrieved his coat from the rack in the entryway.

The front door of Number 23, Erdnuss-Straße opened inwards – when Dieter twisted the doorknob and pulled the door ajar, he was presented with a wall of snow half a metre high on the other side.

Dieter stepped outside onto the platform of snow. His father had two snow shovels in hand, and gave one of the pair to him. The task was obvious and needed no explanation.

Two spades bit chunks out of the snow, and gradually the path to the entryway was cleared. Despite the cold air that numbed his fingertips and toes, Dieter felt hot in his coat from the exertion.

"Thank you for helping," Vati mentioned when the job was done, and Dieter acknowledged his father's gratitude with a wordless gesture. Father continued, "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to have a word with you."

Dieter suddenly realised that he had helped his father shovel the path just so he could be out of the house and away from prying ears. His father motioned to Dieter to follow, and led him from the street to a deserted nearby wood behind the rows of homes. What needed to be said that Father didn't want to discuss inside?

"We're not going to talk about… _girls_," Dieter asked worriedly, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Vati smiled. "Do you _want_ to?" he asked, very amused.

"Not particularly," Dieter answered truthfully.

His father nodded with understanding. "Of course. I wasn't going to talk about that anyway, but just so you know, don't worry about them. One day, your attitude will simply _change_, and that will be all."

Dieter was not reassured. That was exactly what Hans had said, and Dieter didn't want to be like him if he could avoid it.

Vati noticed Dieter's expression and sighed, "No, what I'd like to talk to you about is something a little unpleasant. I'd like you to explain _this."_

He reached into his coat, pulled out a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, and presented a folded sheet of paper. Dieter took the sheet and unfolded it, and read.

It was a list of his homework and quiz scores from his teachers at school. The scores at the beginning of the year were consistently good, but in the last two weeks, he hadn't scored anything higher than a seventy percent.

"Explain to me why you haven't been putting any effort into your assignments, or studying for tests." Father said sternly.

Dieter was speechless for a moment. He glanced down at the score sheet. There were sixties, seventies, even a _fifty_ percent – a drastic slump from his own standards and his father's expectations. His only answer was short and inadequate – "I've been… busy."

"I've noticed," Father said unpleasantly. "You are a wizard, Dieter, but with the ability to do magic comes extra responsibilities, the least of which is to succeed in… 'Muggle' school. Now tell me why."

When Dieter was unable to provide an answer, Herr Heydrich asked, "Do you remember our cover story for you going to a school of magic?"

"Yes," Dieter replied with a nod. "I will be attending a Napola school, NPEA Stuhm, East Prussia – an elite boarding institution for exceptional and promising…" He didn't finish the sentence, recognising the seriousness of the situation.

"You see the problem now, Dieter? We cannot – CANNOT – give anybody any reason to investigate your disappearance from this town next year. The Napolas are very selective and they only admit the brightest students and best youth leaders, and until recently you have met those criterions. If you continue to perform poorly in school, then people might not believe us, and if anyone decides to probe into this matter, then we are in serious, serious trouble."

"You see, I've done several… less than honest things to create this façade, all to ensure that you get the best education you can get. Do not let me down, but most importantly, please don't let _yourself_ down. This is _your_ future, Dieter. You cannot let it go to waste by failing now. Do you understand?"

Dieter nodded, feeling gloomy.

"Now, do you think you can excel with your schoolwork without requiring me to lock away all your spellbooks?"

"Yes Father," Dieter answered. "I'll stop being distracted with my Durmstrang textbooks, but I don't know about my siblings. They've been pestering me ever since they found out I was a wizard, demanding that I show them magic tricks. Marie is quite persistent, but Hans is the worst – I think he's jealous and just wants to harass me."

"Then I shall speak to them about this and have them leave you to your studies. And speaking of Hans, that was a commendable thing you did the other day, confronting him," Father said with sincerity – he was even smiling. Dieter, who had spent the last few minutes facing the brunt of his father's disappointment, welcomed the change in tone.

"You didn't have to do it – you could have let Hans take credit for things he neither earned nor deserved, but you tried to stop him, because you understand that those awards are no mere ribbons or pieces of metal. They are recognitions of someone's hard work, sacrifice, and integrity – _Blood and Honour,"_ he added for effect. Those principles were the rock of the National Socialist movement.

Dieter thanked Vati for the compliments, and his father acknowledged them with a wave of his hand. He continued, "As for your other brothers and sisters, I suppose their hysteria about magic will just die down eventually."

Dieter wasn't so sure. Paul had recently revealed that he was convinced he was magical. Did Marie and Lena think the same thing, too? He told Vati his concerns.

"Well, as you said, we won't know for sure whether they're witches or wizards or not until their eleventh birthdays," Father agreed. "Unless there's a way to test for magic before that time, they'll just have to accept that."

"Well, there _is_ a way to tell if they're magical, Vati," Dieter confessed.

Father asked, "Does this test involve jumping off the roof of the house to see if you magically escape injury, like Lena tried last week?"

"No, it's different," Dieter said. He then explained to his father about the house in Kartoffel-Straße, that was invisible to non-magical eyes. Dieter had avoided telling anyone about his visit to the deranged Herr Strichleiter's mysterious house during the pogrom of November ninth, but now he decided that his father should know about it.

"So if we take the rest of the children to Kartoffel-Straße, we'll be able to determine whether they are magical or not based on whether they can see Herr Strichleiter's house?" Father proposed.

"Yes," Dieter affirmed. "But I think we should make sure Paul and Marie and Lena and Albert stay as far away from that place as possible. I'd hate to imagine their disappointment if one turned out to be magical and the rest didn't."

Vati nodded. "I quite agree – besides, it is still not safe for your siblings to venture there. And I don't like the sound of Herr Strichleiter. You're saying he did not differentiate between Jews and Aryans when identifying his personal enemies?"

When Dieter confirmed this, his father decided to meet the old wizard for himself. "If he is in fact dangerous and not just mad, it would be best if we know immediately. Take the snow shovels back to the house, and we'll go."

Within a minute, they were off, and Dieter described his encounter with the wizard in detail as they walked. They went down the snow-covered Erdnuss-Straße to Adolf Hitler Platz, and within a few minutes they made it to the street of the Jews.

The town of Gemüsestadt had been unfortunate enough to be the home of a settlement of about one hundred Hebrews. They were rootless wanderers with no love of home or country, and settled in one town or another for several generations before leaving to move their infestation elsewhere. Ever since the townspeople had exacted justice upon the Jews for burning down the Schwalbe household, fewer and fewer of the Jews remained – many left the town, but where had they gone? Had they simply infested another nearby town, or had they fled to a less strong-willed country where the populace did not understand the degeneracy of their race?

Dieter and his father walked down Kartoffel-Straße. Apart from the boarded up windows, there was another feature that set the street apart from every other in the town, and that was the very noticeable lack of any national flags. The red banners of the NSDAP and Reich were a familiar sight in Gemüsestadt (and common enough to just be part of the scenery), and their absence gave the street a naked, empty feeling.

Spotting the magical house of Herr Strichleiter was easy – it was the only edifice that was completely intact amongst the rows of broken homes and shops. "There," Dieter said, pointing.

"Where?" Vati questioned, peering in the general direction of Dieter's hand.

"Between that house and the bakery, right… there!"

Father shook his head. "I take your word for it," he said. Dieter walked up to the house and his father followed closely behind.

Dieter knocked. For the first time, he noticed that the door had a number, which he hadn't spotted during that night a month ago. After a few moments, the door of number 22/7 swung open to reveal Strichleiter – tall, thin, and wearing an eccentric and very purple robe of some sort.

"Hello, little boy. Is this your father, I presume?"

Herr Heydrich answered for Dieter. "Yes I am," he said, looking at a section of brick wall beside the door and not Strichleiter's face. Dieter realised that his father still couldn't see anything.

"Well, please come in," the old man invited. Dieter took his father by the hand and pulled him through the door.

"WHOA!" he yelped in alarm. Being pulled through a solid brick wall to arrive in a room that mysteriously materialised in front of him must have been a very odd sensation indeed.

The strange brass instruments were still scattered throughout the room, clustered on tabletops and on the floor. They were invited to sit in some leather chairs, and Herr Strichleiter left for a few minutes. He returned with a kettle and some cups.

"Turnip Tea?" he offered, pouring himself a cup.

"Excuse me?" Vati said, wondering if he had heard correctly.

The old wizard repeated his offer for the turnip tea. Dieter wondered if it was even possible to make tea from turnips, but he suspected his father had other thoughts running through his mind. Anyone of his generation who had lived through the war hated turnips with a loathing. Dieter remembered his parents' horror stories of ersatz coffee made from turnips, ersatz turnip bread (with sawdust for consistency), ersatz turnip _meat_, and every imaginable food substitute that had to be eaten during those years thanks to the Entente blockade.

Vati politely refused the turnip tea, but Dieter decided to give it a try – it was quite watery and very bland, and Dieter wondered if wizards regularly drank such an uninspired beverage.

"So, was there anything you needed to discuss, Herr Georg Heydrich?" the old wizard asked while taking a sip of his tea.

Father was about to say something, but he stopped with his mouth open in surprise. Dieter was puzzled by his father's reaction, and after a pause, Father said, "I don't recall ever telling you my name."

"I'm sorry." Strichleiter explained, "It's just that your son Dieter introduced himself the last time we met and mentioned you at one point. I hope I didn't alarm you."

Father gave Dieter a questioning look. Dieter's expression was blank. He was dumbfounded and horribly confused. He was disturbed that the old wizard knew who they were, and Dieter was… _reasonably_ certain that he had never told the man who he was. Or had he? He strained his memory, trying desperately to prove to himself that he hadn't been that stupid.

Dieter's mind eventually returned to reality. He heard his father making careful conversation with the old wizard.

"When you moved to this town, were you aware of the kind of company you have in this neighbourhood?"

"Oh no, not at all. Your son mentioned something about 'Joos' last month, but I admit I know nothing about your strange Muggle customs. Could you enlighten me?"

They talked for about ten minutes, and Dieter was under the impression that the wizard did not understand anything Father was saying and was only nodded and muttering things like, "I see," just to be polite. Father steered the conversation this way and that, and discovered for himself how utterly clueless the old man was when it came to the world around him.

Dieter noticed that his father hadn't brought up the delicate issue of Strichleiter's opinion on 'Muggles,' and the wizard had likewise avoided the subject. Feeling reckless, Dieter waited for a pause in the conversation and asked, "Herr Strichleiter, what do think about Muggles? When we met last month, you said that they were enemies of wizards, and I want to know why."

The old wizard took another sip of his turnip tea and stroked his thin, pointy beard (proving it was indeed flexible and incapable of impaling anyone, as Dieter once suspected), and said, "Meaning no offence to you, Herr Heydrich, but I'll be frank with my answer: you Muggles are very strange. Though your culture, habits, and use of technological substitutes for magic are intriguing, I find your irrational barbarism towards other members of your race quite disturbing. As far as I can tell, those 'Joos' were Muggles just like you – I don't think I can trust Muggles if you are so blind."

Herr Strichleiter was either completely insane, knew _nothing_ about the wider world outside of his magical house, or both. He smiled broadly at Dieter and Father's stony faces and asked kindly, "Do you want any more turnip tea? You should try some, Herr Heydrich."

Father shook his head and stood up. As politely as he could, he announced, "Sorry, I don't particularly like turnips. Now, it was a pleasure to meet you, but we really must be off."

"And it was a pleasure to meet you," Strichleiter replied. "If you ever want to stop for tea, don't hesitate to drop by."

Dieter followed his father's lead and quickly left 22/7 Kartoffel-Straße. Herr Strichleiter watched the Heydrichs disappear down the street through his window.

Strichleiter sighed and shook his head slowly. He walked to his office, seated himself in front of a handsome desk, reached into a drawer, and extracted a stack of parchment. The top of the stack had the crossed-out names, _Wilhelm and Gerda Schwalbe_. He flipped to a new file labelled _Dieter Eckhard Heydrich_, dipped his quill into an inkwell, and began to write.


	8. Die Seeschlange

**CANON CHARACTER ALERT!**

Yes! In this chapter, you will meet your very first character from _Harry Potter_ canon! Who will it be? OH, THE SUSPENSE!

Anyway, sorry for the delay with this update, but I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless.

~ _Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter VIII: Die Seeschlange**

Dieter eventually discovered that the time passed less agonisingly if he did his best to forget that he was a wizard at all. By putting his spellbooks out of sight in his wardrobe, he found it easier to concentrate on the matters at hand – primarily, excelling as best he could in his scholarly studies and in the Deutsches Jungvolk. The slump in his marks in December levelled out to his previous standard, and he performed admirably in his youth group activities, as usual.

With his own anxious anticipation for his magical education safely subdued (somewhat) for the duration of the school year, Dieter realised how much he would be missing when he departed for Durmstrang – something he hadn't thought about at all in those exciting few weeks after his eleventh birthday. Foremost in his mind was his own family. They said they would write often, but Dieter was slightly worried – he had never been away from his family for any time longer than a week or so. Would he be able to cope with almost ten months away at Durmstrang?

_Of course I will_, he resolved. _I'm sure I can handle it… right?_

Dieter wouldn't shed any tears for leaving Muggle school, but the Deutsches Jungvolk was a different matter. He enjoyed going on camping trips, and drinking hot cocoa, shooting air rifles, and beating the girls of the Jungmädel in every competition between the two groups. At Durmstrang there would be none of that. His DJ friends wouldn't be there either, and Dieter suspected that they wouldn't be as diligent in their correspondence as his siblings.

But regardless of what would be absent from his life when he left for his magical education in the coming September, Durmstrang would certainly offer something completely new and alien. The prospect of discovering a whole realm of possibilities – to increase his own potential through magic – was intoxicating. When his Muggle school finally ended for the summer, these thoughts came to a fore after their involuntary hibernation.

In his ample free time through July and August of 1939, Dieter once again found himself absorbed in his spellbooks. Likewise, his younger siblings wasted no opportunities to read the books too, and fervently wish they could be going to Durmstrang as well.

Eventually, the X's on Dieter's calendar slowly crept up on the first of September. He thought the day would never arrive, but unbelievably, it had. His books were packed, his clothes were neatly folded (all Mutti's work, of course), and he was as mentally prepared as he could be.

To support the façade that he would be attending a Napola institution, Dieter was dressed in his Deutsches Jungvolk uniform, complete with knife, armband, and the few medals he had earned pinned to his shirt. He was waiting in the sitting room with his family, making some last-minute conversation before he had to leave.

After a few minutes (that seemed like an hour or more), a horn honked from outside. Father went to open the door, and his boss was waiting outside with an auto. Dieter and his family went outside and loaded his trunk into the auto's boot.

"Well, this is it," he said to his siblings, unsure of anything better to say.

"We'll miss you!" Albert – newly of kindergarten age – squeaked. "If you see Flower, tell him we say hello," Marie added.

Albert, Lena, and Marie crowded around their older brother and enveloped him in a big hug – Paul hung back and was content to shake Dieter's hand, not wanting to embarrass himself with such a public display of affection. Once his younger siblings cleared away (Lena hobbling along with a crutch and her left foot in a cast, having jumped out of a tree a week before and miraculously not receiving any greater injuries), Hans patted Dieter roughly on the head and messed up his combed hair.

"Have fun, Dieter, and don't forget to stop every once in a while to smell the flowers," he said, winking.

"I'll keep that in mind," Dieter replied with heavy sarcasm, and his brother grinned as he stepped away.

Mutti was last – she knelt and gave Dieter a tight hug and kissed him on both cheeks. He could feel his cheeks turn red and heard his younger siblings giggling, but he didn't mind so much. "Now, take very good care of yourself at Durmstrang," Mutti said. "Learn lots of things, and don't forget to write us often – remember, we can't write you if you don't send us an owl so we can reply."

Dieter nodded. Mutti hugged him extra hard again and let go. He noticed she was wearing the Mutterkreuz she had been awarded in May – the Cross of Honour of the German Mother (Second Class) was a very special award. For giving birth to and expertly raising six Aryan children, she certainly deserved it. Since she was wearing the medal, and Dieter was in uniform…

He grinned as he saluted his mother, as required by Deutches Jungvolk and Hitler Jugend protocol. Amused and giggling, Dieter's three youngest siblings also held their arms out straight. It was odd, saluting his own mother, but it made Dieter feel proud of her – and it was strangely satisfying and affectionate in a way.

Mutti was blushing furiously. "That's quite enough," she said modestly, probably thinking that it would be better to leave the medal in its presentation box. "Now, enjoy your stay at school. Be nice to your teachers, and make friends, Dieter. We'll miss you."

"I will too," Dieter replied.

Vati was standing by the passenger side of the auto, and the Gemeinschaftsleiter was sitting in the driver's seat, twiddling his fingers on the steering wheel. "Whenever you're ready," Father said.

Dieter traded more goodbyes with his siblings and mother, and took a seat in the back of the auto. Father's boss, Herr Steiger, put the automobile into gear, and they were off, rumbling over the uneven surface of the cobbled street. Dieter waved at the rest of his family through the rear window until they were out of sight.

"I can't thank you enough for giving us a ride," Father was saying to Herr Steiger. "It's awfully bad luck that none of the scheduled trains could get us to East Prussia from here."

"Don't mention it," the Gemeinschaftsleiter replied. "I don't mind driving you to your connection – it's only forty kilometres…"

They then discussed Party business for the rest of the journey, namely how to increase attendance at Reich Labour Service meetings.

"Provide pie?" Vati suggested. "Everyone likes pie…"

Dieter wasn't paying much attention to their conversation – he watched the scenery fly by the window. He pondered what his life would be like in just a few short hours, when everything from the auto he was riding in to the clothes he wore was foreign. But as much as the thought made him insecure, it was exhilarated him. What would Durmstrang be like? What skills would he learn there so he can advance himself, his race, and his country?

They soon arrived in the largest town closest to Gemüsestadt, a town that had the fortune of having more rail lines – convenient, since it not only fit Dieter and his father's cover story of taking a train to the NPEA Stuhm in East Prussia, but was also the rendezvous point for students who would be attending Durmstrang.

"Well, I guess I don't know my way around this town," Herr Steiger admitted. They had arrived at a dead end, their path blocked by some vertical iron posts in the street, allowing only pedestrian access.

Father opened his door. "That's fine. Dieter and I could just walk to the train station. If you park here, I'll be back soon, perhaps in fifteen minutes to half an hour."

Vati's boss agreed to his plan and turned off the engine. They thanked him for the lift, got out of the car, and extracted Dieter's bulky school trunk. Father took one end and Dieter the other, and they ventured down the street and just so happened to stumble upon the town's train station – an open air platform with a booth at one end. They walked up to the counter to find a stocky brown haired man inside, listening intently to the wireless set.

"Excuse me," Father asked. "Can you tell us where we can find the lake?"

"Go west down this street about four hundred metres, and there'll be a dirt path that branches off heading north which leads to the waterfront," the man in the booth supplied. "Oh, have you heard the news?"

Dieter and his father were about to leave, but Herr Heydrich asked, "What news?"

The man let the radio answer for him – he leaned over and turned the dial to increase the volume. The Führer's loud, authoritative voice met their ears:

_"…But I am wrongly judged if my love of peace and my patience are mistaken for weakness or even cowardice. I, therefore, decided last night and informed the British Government that in these circumstances I can no longer find any willingness on the part of the Polish Government to conduct serious negotiations with us._

_These proposals for mediation have failed because in the meanwhile there, first of all, came as an answer the sudden Polish general mobilisation, followed by more Polish atrocities. These were again repeated last night. Recently in one night there were as many as twenty-one frontier incidents; last night there were fourteen, of which three were quite serious. I have, therefore, resolved to speak to Poland in the same language that Poland for months past has used towards us. This attitude on the part of the Reich will not change..."_

"WHAT?" Father said, shocked. He dropped his end of the trunk, which hit the ground with a dull thud. Dieter set down his end too, but more gently.

"Those damn Poles launched a raid across our border last night," the man in the booth explained. "There's going to be a war now."

_"…Whoever, however, thinks he can oppose this national command, whether directly or indirectly, shall fall. We have nothing to do with traitors. We are all faithful to our old principle. It is quite unimportant whether we ourselves live, but it is essential that our people shall live, that Germany shall live. The sacrifice that is demanded of us is not greater than the sacrifice that many generations have made. If we form a community closely bound together by vows, ready for anything, resolved never to surrender, then our will will master every hardship and difficulty. And I would like to close with the declaration that I once made when I began the struggle for power in the Reich. I then said: 'If our will is so strong that no hardship and suffering can subdue it, then our will and our German might shall prevail'."_

With the speech over, the man turned the radio off. Nobody said anything for a moment, and everything was unusually silent.

_A real war_, Dieter thought. He had often thought about war – the tanks and planes he had read about going into action, but never had he expected such a conflict to happen. It was a fantasy he entertained himself with, but now the Reich was at war – it was reality.

And the prospect excited him. Danzig was rightfully German! If the Poles were so foolish as to attack the Reich to jealously guard that stolen city, then those Untermenschen would get the punishment they deserved!

"War," whispered Father gravely. He seemed stunned and lost for words.

"Where did you serve?" the man in the booth asked perceptively.

"Rumanian Front, Ninth Army, under Falkenhayn," Father answered.

The man in the booth just gave a one-word reply. "Flanders."

Dieter found it odd how the adults were so morose about the prospect of war with Poland. Wasn't the Reich going to defend itself and retake what was rightfully theirs from the groping hands of the Slavs?

"I just hope to God we're ready…" Father mused. Then, his resolve stiffened. His shoes snapped together and stood at attention – the man in the train station booth did likewise. Right arms went out, perfectly straight.

"Sieg Heil!" they chorused, and Dieter joined them. "Heil Hitler!"

After some parting farewells, they left the booth and walked down the dirt path that led to the lake. Dieter's mind was racing about the war – fighter planes chattering away with machine guns… Panzerkampfwagens bellowing with their cannons…

Father was also thinking about the war, but he had a much different attitude. As they walked, he explained, "Dieter, you must know that war is nothing to be taken lightly – I have experienced it first hand, and… those are some very _pretty_ trees…"

Dieter looked at Vati, extremely puzzled. His father had abruptly stopped walking at a bend in the path, and was staring transfixed at the tall conifers flanking it. Dieter wondered why his father, who had for the last five minutes been walking through the same forest, only now decided to focus the entirety of his attention to the area's flora.

"What?" he asked his father.

"What?" Vati said back to him.

_This isn't funny_, Dieter thought. "You were talking about the war."

"Was I? I don't remember that," he said with disturbing cheerfulness. "Well, it was a nice walk, but let's go back home."

Dieter did not know what had happened to his father. "No, we have to go to the lake so I can go to Durmstrang."

Father then looked at Dieter with wide eyes and gasped. He dropped his end of Dieter's trunk and hit himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Mein Gott – I forgot! I have to run – we're supposed to organise a rally in five minutes, otherwise the giant mutant squirrels will give me rabies!"

"WHAT? No – we're going to Durmstrang!" Dieter yelled, but his father took several steps back, still ranting on about deadlines he'd missed, meetings he had to attend to, and the threat of death by furry rodents. _Has he gone insane, or does he just have a very strange sense of humour that I'm unaware of?_

"Need help?" a voice asked. Dieter turned around and faced the speaker – a sandy blond haired boy with Aryan features, but with a nose that was slightly tilted to the left. He was a little shorter than Dieter, and was wearing some kind of robe that seemed to be the common dress of wizards. Behind him were two similarly clad adults who were presumably the boy's parents, and a disgruntled-looking owl in a cage on top of a wooden trunk, which was floating a few centimetres off the ground.

"Oh, yes," Dieter replied thankfully. "What's going on?"

The boy gave Herr Heydrich an amused look before answering, "It's the Muggle-Repelling Spell. We have one around our house, so I know the symptoms. Now, all you need to do is just pull him through, and everything will stop."

Dieter nodded. As instructed, he grabbed hold of his father's arm and pulled hard. Vati staggered after his son, protesting loudly, but after travelling just a few metres past the bend in the path, the insanity ended.

Father took some very deep breaths. "What just happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Dieter answered. "Now… we're going to go to Durmstrang Institute, correct?"

"Of course," Vati affirmed, as if his brief episode of lunacy hadn't happened at all. "We don't have any other plans."

Dieter looked at his father suspiciously. He asked him about the mysterious rally he was supposed to be arranging in five minutes, and Vati replied that he didn't know what his son was talking about, for he hadn't remembered a thing.

"Right…" Dieter said. He then turned to the boy in the robe and thanked him for his advice.

"No problem," the boy answered. Excitedly, he asked, "So are you a first-year at Durmstrang too?"

Dieter nodded, and the boy smiled broadly. "Great, me too! I'll be seeing you in class! By the way, my name's Konrad. Konrad Ritter. And yours?" The boy offered his hand to shake.

"Dieter Heydrich," he said, shaking Konrad's hand. He gave the mysterious bend in the path a glance. "So… that thing was a _Muggle-Repelling Charm_, you say?" he asked doubtfully. The thought of people being repelled just like annoying insects was an odd one.

"Yep," Konrad answered, nodding. "It's a useful spell to keep the secret of wizardkind, well, secret."

The boy's father added, "But don't worry, they're completely harmless." Noticing Father's neat suit and tie, the bespectacled, moustachioed Herr Ritter rather unnecessarily asked, "And I take it you are a Muggle?"

Herr Heydrich didn't immediately reply, since "Muggle" was not a term he readily identified himself by. Something upon the lines of _German, Aryan, father of six_, and _National Socialist_ came to mind; not the decidedly foreign word for the lack of magic. His answer was slightly delayed.

"Well, this is most interesting – always interesting to meet a real live Muggle," the wizard said. "I am Fritz Ritter. This is my wife Anna, and my son, Konrad."

He vigorously shook hands with the two Heydrichs, but Frau Ritter – a short woman with a round face and blonde hair tied up in a tight bun – was much more reserved. "How do you do?" she merely asked, to which Dieter and his father replied that they were indeed well.

"Well, we must be off to the rendezvous," Herr Ritter declared. "Do you need help carrying your trunk? I can make it levitate if you want."

"Oh, that sounds nice," Dieter agreed. Though the load was split between two people, Dieter's trunk was still heavy and anything to ease this was appreciated. Herr Ritter waved his wand and muttered a few words, and the trunk jumped into the air and settled at a height above Dieter's ankles.

"There you go. All you have to do is push it along." Herr Ritter's smile was then replaced by a slight frown. "It must be very hard living as Muggles," he said thoughtfully. "Living without magic must make your lives very difficult."

Dieter didn't think his life was hard at all, and he told Herr Ritter his opinion the matter. Also, now that Dieter thought about it, Herr Ritter looked quite skinny and seemingly hadn't done any physical exertion in his life.

"Hmmmm," the wizard mumbled, not really paying attention. "Shall we go?"

They walked down the path, and eventually a gap appeared in the trees, which gradually widened to reveal a lake and a clearing. There was a small crowd of people assembled by the pebble-strewn lakeshore, near a small pier. The lake was perfectly smooth and reflected the forest on the other side, and Dieter thought this would be the ideal place for his Deutsches Jungvolk unit to go sailing or rowing.

There were about a dozen or more students waiting with their parents at the lakefront, and some of them were already in their crimson Durmstrang robes. The older students were busy in conversation, but some of the younger ones looked distinctly alone.

A man in a black robe and cap called out, "Ah, you new arrivals there! I need some identification, please!" He hurried over, waving a clipboard in one hand and clutching a vaguely familiar brass contraption that resembled a measuring scale in the other.

"I'll need to see your identification papers and your wands, please," the man instructed. He attended to the Ritters first, since they already had the necessary documents ready.

Dieter rummaged through his pockets. "Where are my papers?" he asked his father, trying to sound level and unconcerned.

"Don't worry. They're in your trunk," he assured. He opened the lid of the floating trunk and mutterd, "Now, where did your mother put it…?"

The inside of the trunk was very neatly packed, with all the clothes in one section and carefully folded. They were no longer tidy after two seconds of contact with Father's rummaging hands.

A short minute passed and the official had cleared his previous charges. Dieter now had the brown envelope containing his documents from his trunk.

"Last name, first name, and year at Durmstrang," the man with the clipboard directed.

"Heydrich, Dieter, and this is my first year."

The official (whose robe had a triangular badge where the breast pocket would be) flipped through a few pages attached to his clipboard. "Right, so you're on the list… may I see your identification and your wand?"

Dieter's paperwork matched what was said on the list, and his wand was presented next. The official awkwardly handled both the clipboard and brass scales, but he managed to weigh the wand without dropping anything. A tiny slip of paper slid out of the instrument's base, and the wizard read, "Eb-Dh(Nr)-13r. Is that correct?"

"Err…" Dieter hesitated. "Sure?"

The official tore off the piece of paper and pocketed it. "And lastly, I'll be needing your identification, sir," he said to Herr Heydrich.

Vati was surprised, but he nevertheless presented his documents bearing the eagle, wreath, and swastika of the Reich rather than the bisected triangle and circle of the magical authorities. "What does 'NSDAP' stand for?" the wizard queried, inspecting Father's credentials as Party member and position in civil governance.

Father looked like he had just been asked, _"Is the sky blue?"_ or, _"Is the Pope Catholic?" _

After educating the wizard with an answer, Herr Heydrich inquired, "Who are they? Security?" He pointed at some figures hiding amongst the trees at the edge of the clearing, and Dieter would have never noticed them by himself.

"Oh – them?" the official babbled, surprised that Father could spot them. "Yes, they are guards. We don't want to take any chances, with the goblin insurrection–"

"A _what_ insurrection?" Vati blurted. Dieter remembered that his father hadn't gone with him to Gellert Grindelwald Platz, and hadn't seen the creatures that resembled little Jews.

"A _goblin_ insurrection – it happened last month. Where have you been, living in a cave?" The official looked at Father's distinct lack of wizard-style robes and already had his answer. "Anyway, we just need to make sure that nobody attacks the students and there are no impostors."

The thought of goblins masquerading as humans sounded ridiculous to Dieter, but neither he nor his father commented about it. However, the thought of goblins revolting while Germany was at war with Poland was not a pleasant one…

Then an intriguing thought occurred to him. Were the two events linked? In the words of the Führer, "Polish atrocities" had forced the Reich to respond with war. Was this goblin revolt one of them?

"…Well, you seem to be the last person scheduled to depart from this station," the wizard told Dieter, bringing him back to reality. "Enjoy your journey and your stay at Durmstrang." After straightening his cap, he promptly turned on his heels and with a small popping sound, _vanished into thin air._

Though he had mentally prepared himself to face the oddities of magic, the sight nevertheless stunned Dieter. His investigating hand came across nothing but air, confirming that his eyes had been telling the truth.

_I want to learn how to do that,_ he thought.

Having registered, there was nothing left to do but wait. The Ritters were busy conversing with some wizarding colleagues, and not wanting to disturb, Dieter curiously looked around at the people assembled at the lakefront. He soon noticed however that he was also the subject of intrigue, like he was some strange animal at a zoo exhibit. His khaki shirt, black shorts, tie, and armband made him stand out amongst the crowd of robed wizards and witches, and he suddenly felt very exposed. Undoubtedly, his father felt the same way.

"Five minutes!" somebody said loudly, checking a watch. It was five minutes to nine o'clock.

The babble of conversation slowly died down from that point, as the young boys, girls, and their parents looked towards the middle of the lake. Dieter nor his father had no idea what they were supposed to expect. Were they waiting for a boat? The many lake-ward gazes seemed to indicate that, but Dieter couldn't see why that would be the case. Nothing resembling a castle called Durmstrang was on the other side of the water, and no boats were in sight. Then again, the wizard official had simply vanished into thin air, so were the students going to go to Durmstrang using a similar method? Dieter found himself trying to figure out how he would go to his new school, and wondering what it would feel like to pop in and out of spaces.

He was absorbed in these thoughts for longer than he realised, for soon the air was filled with an excited chatter and the eerie noise – an odd sucking and rumbling sound, emanating from the bottom of the waters. People were pointing at the centre of the now-writhing lake; it was throwing up bubbles and agitated splashes, and sending small rippling waves that lapped the pebble-strewn shore. Like a giant bathtub with the plug pulled, a swirling whirlpool formed in the middle of the lake, and from it slowly emerged what was unmistakably a mast.

Dieter watched in awe as the great ship rose from the depths, and he soon found himself clapping and cheering. The figures in crimson on the deck manned the tangle of complicated ropes and pulleys of the rigging, but weren't too busy to wave back at the crowd on the lakeshore. As the ship approached the shore at an angle, Dieter took in its features.

The ship (_a galleon?_) had a tall, sweeping sterncastle and four masts with sails bearing the pervasive triangular symbol – the front two masts had square sails, and the rear two triangular lateen ones. The short, squat forecastle was pierced by a glowing round window on either side, and jutting in front of it was a long, pointed prow decorated with rows of harsh triangles, giving the entire front of the ship the visage of some toothy, ill-tempered creature.

The ship's wake was filled with bubbles, which seemed to push the ship forwards with unnatural speed and effortlessness. Though the water by the shore looked much too shallow for the ship to come any nearer, it did; it glided on the film of bubbles and approached the pier. Presenting its flank to the lakefront, Dieter could read the name written on the bow in worn, but elegant Gothic script: _Die Seeschlange._

The Sea Serpent came to a stop by the small pier, still bubbling profusely where the ship's sides met the water – was the magic of the ship having that much of a reaction with the lake? Overall, it gave the appearance of the fizz of some carbonated beverage.

Dieter couldn't help himself. He extended his arm and shouted, "Ahoj brause!" Nobody but his father got the joke.

Magically, the ropes thrown overboard by the sailors tied themselves to the pier, securing the ship for boarding. A two metre wide, net-like rope ladder followed and settled on the Sea Serpent's side.

One of the sailors, who looked like an older student, stood by the top of the rope ladder and pointed a wand to his throat. Somehow amplifying his voice, he announced in an accent that sounded Norwegian, "Welcome, students. I am Dag Tryggvason, Head Präfekt of Durmstrang and Captain of Die Seeschlange. Please form an orderly single-file line and wait your turn to board the ship. Do not worry about carrying your trunks – we will bring them aboard for you."

The Captain nodded to two companions, who scrambled over the side of the ship and scurried down the netting to the pier with surprising speed. "Form a queue, please," they reiterated their superior's orders. "Hand us your luggage when called upon for boarding."

Students hastened their goodbyes with their parents and jockeyed for a place in the forming line. Dieter found himself somewhere in the middle.

"Are you ready?" Vati asked, and Dieter nodded. "Then I wish you the best of luck. Learn all that you can, and make us proud."

"Thanks. I will," Dieter affirmed.

Before he knew it, it was his turn to board, as the loading had proceeded very efficiently. "What's your full name and year at Durmstrang?" one of the student sailors – a _girl_ – requested. Incredulously, her accent almost sounded Polish. Adding to Dieter's confusion, her hair looked like she had just emerged from a shower, but her school uniform (complete with collar and shoulder tabs of rank) was perfectly dry.

Dieter supplied the necessary information, and the older girl quickly wrote it down on a small piece of parchment, which she magically fixed to Dieter's trunk. "Very well. Be careful when climbing onboard," she warned. With a wave of her wand and a muttered incantation, Dieter's trunk floated towards the ship, and was received by some of the crewmen on deck.

"Goodbye, Dieter. See you in a few months at Christmas," his father called out as his son walked the length of the pier. Dieter turned and waved. "You too."

Clinging onto ratlines near the top was a girl who was evidently afraid of heights, for she was taking her time in climbing the rope ladder. Dieter shook his head, amused – everything to do with ropes and lashings was second nature to him from his experience in the Deutsches Jungvolk, and climbing the side of the ship was nothing more than a very easy obstacle course. He confidently seized the flexible rungs and clambered up the net. The thick robes sagged and swung about as his weight shifted with each step, but it was nothing to keep him off balance. Passing the slow girl, he heaved himself over the gunwale and promptly slipped on the wet deck.

"Here there be wet floors," a sailor remarked, grinning. "Don't forget that we were just underwater a few minutes ago," He certainly looked very wet. His black hair was plastered to his skull, his uniform was drenched (water was still dripping out the trousers under his robes), and even a length of some aquatic plant was tangled around his neck.

Dieter got up, annoyed at himself for not being more careful. He waved to his father once again from the railing, and found his trunk waiting by the base of the mainmast. Thereafter he examined the Sea Serpent's complicated rigging, and wondered how anybody could ever figure out the tangled mess of ropes and pulleys.

"Wow. What a ship!" a voice said loudly. It was Konrad who had just climbed onboard. He too was marvelling at the Seeschlange's features, but with highly visible enthusiasm.

He soon spotted Dieter and hurried over to him. "Ah, someone I recognise. Sorry, but what's your name again?"

"Dieter."

"Right. _Dieter… Dieter…_ And your last name?"

Using his powers of deduction, Dieter figured that Konrad had a poor memory.

"…Well, Dieter Heydrich, it's good to meet you, again. Oh, and I suppose you should meet my owl too…" He hurried over to his trunk and seized the cage on top of it, and not very gently. The owl inside had tufts of brown and black feathers on its head, resembling ears. It stared unblinking at Dieter with large amber eyes.

"Now, instead of using carrier pigeons, in the wizarding world, we use owls to deliver let–"

Dieter interrupted, "Yes, I know. It was an owl that delivered my Durmstrang acceptance letter."

Konrad blinked. "Oh, right. I forgot."

"And just so you know, we definitely don't use pigeons to deliver the post," corrected Dieter.

"Really?" Konrad responded. "So what do you do?"

Dieter explained that a man collected and delivered the post, and Konrad could scarcely believe that. "Wow. Sound's _awfully_ slow. Well, anyway, this is my owl, Timm. I got him over the summer."

Feeling a little foolish, Dieter extended his fingers to the bars of the cage and wiggled them. "Hello," he greeted.

Timm the Owl did his best to bite Dieter's fingers off. He jabbed with his beak but failing to inflict any damage, Timm puffed up his feathers, spread his wings as far as he could in the confines of the cage, and made a strange hissing sound.

"Charming, isn't he?" Konrad remarked.

The Head Präfekt's magically amplified Norwegian voice announced the Seeschlange's departure. Dieter and the other students on deck headed to the gunwale and waved parting goodbyes to their parents.

Sails full of wind, the ship veered away from the pier and cruised towards the middle of the lake at unusual speed. "Everyone belowdecks, quickly!" the girl präfekt with the eastern accent ordered. "Your things are already downstairs."

Indeed there were, and all of the luggage was nowhere to be seen on deck – Dieter didn't notice them leave. He wanted to stay above and enjoy the view, but then he remembered that the ship would be going underwater again and since he didn't fancy holding his breath, Dieter hurried down the steps.

The deck immediately below the main was already filled with a number of students and their baggage. Evidently, the ship was making several stops, and the lake where Dieter had come aboard was just one of several destinations.

An immediately noticeable feature of the lower deck was the low ceiling supported by thick crossbeams, which Dieter discovered by very nearly hitting his head on them. There were also no rooms or corridors, as the lower deck was simply a large, dimly lit space of creaking timbers that extended the whole length of the ship. It tapered to a point in the front, but the narrow stern end was flat and had several doors leading presumably to the captain's cabin.

In the centre was a row of four thick wooden columns bound in iron hoops and ropes – those were the masts, piercing each layer of the ship down to the bottom of the hold. Along the sides were a series of closed cannon ports, and in front of each port was a bench in lieu of artillery pieces.

The hatch to the top was closed, and Dieter could feel the ship sinking. "Whoah…" Konrad uttered in amazement.

"Welcome aboard Die Seeschlange," a short präfekt with a long nose and glasses said in what sounded like a well-rehearsed and stale speech. "This ship was built in Rostock and commissioned by Durmstrang Institute in the year 1577. She is actually the second ship to be operated by the school of Durmstrang, as the first Seeschlange commissioned in 1301 was destroyed in a fire in 1453. A second ship wasn't ordered for over one hundred years because–"

"Where do we go pee?" the nervous girl who had taken forever to climb onboard asked.

The präfekt frowned, but dutifully answered. He pointed towards the stern and explained, sighing, "There are toilets at the rear. And I suppose that's all you need to know..."

That had to mean that the captain's cabin was located in the sterncastle.

"Let's go find a seat before they're all taken," Konrad said. They seized their baggage and found a bench towards the stern.

The construction of the bench took Dieter by surprise, as it was in fact a small cannon upon closer inspection, just with a seat attached to the top. However, the gun was mounted on simple stout wooden box, instead of the expected wheeled carriage. If the box was indeed the original mount for the weapon, Dieter couldn't help but think of how primitive and inefficient the arrangement was.

"What are you looking at?" Konrad asked curiously, for Dieter was closely inspecting the cannon-turned-bench.

"Ha! _That_ is really interesting," he exclaimed suddenly.

"What is?"

"It's a breech-loader. A very early one, at that, but still a breech-loading cannon," explained Dieter. Konrad just looked at him blankly.

"Okay, Konrad, do you know how a cannon works?" Dieter asked.

He scratched his head and said, "What's a cannon? Is that one of those things that goes 'boom'?"

Evidently, Konrad didn't have the slightest idea of how projectile weapons worked, or even what they were. Dieter was amazed and puzzled, to say the least. Most people he knew couldn't explain how a cannon worked, but they could at least identify one when they saw it, so Konrad must have been surprisingly ignorant. Dieter spent a few minutes describing the workings of the cannon, and how the fact that it was a breech-loader as opposed to muzzle-loader explained why the gun's carriage didn't have any provisions for backwards movement, and made it rare for its time.

"I didn't understand a single thing you said right there, but I take your word for it," Konrad admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "Now, I have a question for you. Would you mind explaining to me what it is you're wearing?"

"What do you mean?" said Dieter, nonplussed. "What do you need to know about my Deutsches Jungvolk uniform?"

"Well, _what is it?"_ Konrad asked, confused that Dieter seemingly didn't understand his question. "What's this Deutsches Jungvolk thing?"

Dieter was also confused. "Aren't you a member?"

"No. Should I?"

Dieter could not believe what he was hearing. "Of course you should! It's _compulsory_ – every boy in Germany from the age of ten to fourteen has to be in it, and when you turn fifteen, you transfer to the Hitler Jugend. Even _girls_ are part of the National Socialist movement."

"And what's that?"

Heads turned in Dieter's direction, but he didn't notice. "Mein Gott, are you German or what? How can you _not_ know what National Socialism is? How can you _not_ be a part of it?"

Konrad's face was bright red, and Dieter suddenly realised he risked alienating the closest thing he had to a new friend at Durmstrang. Konrad mumbled, "Sorry, it was just a question…"

"No, I'm sorry," Dieter insisted. "So… let me get one thing straight. Have you had _any_ contact with anyone non-magical?"

"Not really, no."

"So what you're saying is that you and your family have kept your secret of magic _so_ secret that you've avoided all contact with 'Muggles'?"

Konrad scrunched his face up in thought and replied, "Essentially, yes."

"Huh. I should have known…" Dieter sighed. Whenever he had thought of the magical world, he had always assumed that wizards and witches lived much like Dieter did: amongst Muggles, but harbouring a great secret only relatives and other magical people were entitled to know. Only now did Dieter understand that wizards enforced secrecy by living in complete isolation from the non-magical population.

He explained his misunderstanding and apologised to Konrad, who replied, "No offence taken. I guess we don't know much of anything about each other's worlds." He smiled. "So, can you tell me about your uniform…?"

Dieter patiently described the Deutches Jungvolk and the part it played in the greater National Socialist movement. Konrad listened, enraptured, though Dieter was under the impression his friend didn't understand half of things he was saying.

"That's a lot to remember," Konrad said after Dieter's lengthy explanations.

"Not really. It's quite simple."

Then it was Konrad's turn to talk about the wizarding world and for Dieter to be confused. The conversation revolved entirely around some magical sport called 'Kwidditch', for which Konrad evidently had unlimited enthusiasm. From what Dieter gathered, the game was played on broomsticks, but that was all he could understand.

As they talked, the ship cruised underwater, surfaced to pick up some more students, dived again, and continued towards its next stop. Over several hours, the lower deck got steadily more crowded and noisier – Dieter and Konrad had to speak quite loudly over the buzz of hundreds of conversations just to hear each other. Furthermore, it seemed to be getting hotter, and the air stuffier. Though wafts of liberating fresh air entered through the hatch every each stop, the half-hour intervals between each surfacing and the hundreds of bodies inside a closed space ensured that breathing got uncomfortable quite quickly.

"Now, this is just awful," Konrad admitted. "I can't wait to get off this ship."

"But it builds character!" joked Dieter. Checking his watch, it was mid-afternoon…

The only thing to keep their minds off the boat ride was to keep talking, in this case about their wands. "…heartstring of a Norwegian Ridgeback and thirty-three centimetres of ebony," Dieter concluded, showing Konrad his wand.

"Thirty-three what? _Centimetres?_ What's that in inches…?"

Konrad's wand was of springy olive wood, had a core of unicorn tail hair, and was eleven inches long. Sizing it up alongside his own wand and making some mental calculations, Dieter figured Konrad's wand was about twenty-eight centimetres long.

"…And when I tested out my wand for the first time in the shop, I managed to shoot some sparks in Herr Starkerstab's eyes!" Konrad was saying. "Of course, I didn't mean to do that, but the wandmaker charged my father an extra Badger for that. My father wasn't too upset though, he was just happy I got a wand."

"What does your father do, by the way?" Dieter asked suddenly. He was interested to know what kinds of jobs wizards performed.

An editor for a newspaper was the answer, and Dieter was disappointed that it wasn't anything more dramatic. Dieter then explained what his father did as an administrator in his hometown. He had been a Party member since 1930 and worked in the town's local chapter ever since, but a promotion to town Arbeitsleiter had so far been elusive. "…He has moved up to managing the town post office, but–"

He was interrupted by the arrival of two boys. One boy was tall, skinny, had a thin face ending in a pointy weak chin, and had mid-length black hair that was slicked straight back. The other was close to the opposite in stature, being shorter, built like a brick, and with short blonde hair that was of a light enough shade to be almost white.

The tall one drawled in a strange accent, "Excuse me, but we need to sit down. Can you scoot over–"

The tall boy suddenly stopped speaking, for he had chosen instead to stare at Dieter with eyes narrowed. There was an awkward pause.

"Never mind," the tall boy said, and the pair walked away without looking back.

"What was that about?" Dieter wondered. Konrad shrugged his shoulders. The two resumed their conversation, and after a few more hours, they heard some very welcome news.

"Everyone, look lively and get your uniforms on!" a präfekt announced. "We will dock at Durmstrang in fifteen minutes!"

There was a resounding cheer. Undoubtedly, everyone wanted to get off the ship as soon as possible. Dieter and Konrad extracted their crimson Durmstrang uniforms from their trunks and simply put them over the clothes they were already wearing. Others (mostly girls) felt they had to exhibit a degree of modesty while changing into the red robes, and there was a queue leading to the washrooms at the stern of the ship.

True to the präfekt's word, the voyage finally came to an end within fifteen minutes. The ship slowed, and with yet another great sucking and rumbling sound, it breached the surface. The hatches popped open and glorious, moist air filled the lower deck. After a minute or so, Dieter could no longer feel movement, for the ship sloshed to a stop.

Black boots thudded down the steep staircase, and the Norwegian head präfekt appeared, soaked to the skin and dripping puddles on the floor. He put his wand to his throat and warmly announced, "Welcome to Durmstrang, students. Prepare to disembark."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

If you were curious, I did use bits of Hitler's 1 Sep 1939 Poland speech for the train station scene. Speech courtesy of (delete spaces) fcit . usf . edu.

Also, anyone spot the canon character? If you blinked, you might have missed it.


	9. Treppen

The identity of the canon character introduced last chapter is revealed, and a second canon character appears! Hurrah!

I have some more illustrations for you, and both are of the Durmstrang ship, Die Seeschlange. To view, enter the following codes into your address bar and delete the spaces:

**My first concept (drawn long before writing the last chapter)**  
http: //i300. photobucket. com/ albums/ nn34/ Pseudonym_Sam/ Boat. jpg? t=1235791488

**Gift art from Rednight, from MNFF**  
http: //i285. photobucket. com/ albums/ ll73/ titanic_charlie/ Untitled1. Jpg

Enjoy!

~ _Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter IX: Treppen**

Enthralled at the prospect of leaving the cramped, stuffy confines of the lower deck, several students immediately abandoned their seats and rushed towards the stairwell, but the Oberpräfekt blocked the exit. "Please, let us do this in an orderly fashion," he announced, prompting many groans. Ignoring the complaints of his captive audience, he continued, "Leave your luggage behind – it will be taken to the castle separately. Now, we will disembark by year. Seventh-years first, please."

The oldest students cheered and hastened their leave. "Favouritism!" someone shouted after them.

"Sixth-years…"

Dieter didn't want to stay aboard the ship any longer. Though he wasn't as bothered by the conditions inside as others were, he didn't feel like waiting any longer to see Durmstrang Institute of Magical Learning for the first time. Nine months had been enough.

After a thoroughly lengthy wait that was in reality only five minutes long, it was the first-years' turn to finally leave the ship. As instructed, Dieter and Konrad left their trunks behind and climbed the steps into the open. Dieter could not have prepared himself for the sight he saw from the deck.

Die Seeschlange was moored on the shores of a lake situated in a dark valley, surrounded on three sides by soaring, snow-capped mountains. To the west, opposite the valley's mouth, the faint orange glow of twilight framed the tall peaks. But to the north was the centrepiece of the sight. Right in front of Dieter was the castle itself.

Durmstrang castle had a lofty perch on a mountainside promontory, at the top of the tree line. Even in the distance, it was imposing and majestic. Its many towers and spires bathed in the faint orange light, and the luminous windows glimmered. "Wow," Dieter breathed, along with many others.

While the first-years gaped at the castle, the very blond and very Aryan Head Präfekt took the opportunity to dry himself off with his wand. Still keeping his eyes on the castle, Dieter walked the gangplank, across the pier, and onto dry land. The older students were disappearing down a path into the forest at the wide clearing's edge, and by the time all of the first-years were off the ship, they were alone with the Head Präfekt and two of his subordinates. Dieter recognised one as the girl who had taken his luggage onboard and the other as the boring one who gave the speech about the ship's history.

Oberpräfekt Tryggvason amplified his voice and called for attention. The babble of excited voices died down, and the Norwegian continued, "First-years, are you excited to finally be at Durmstrang?"

A roar of enthusiastic affirmation drowned whatever the student leader said next. The Head Präfekt smiled and waited for silence. "Excellent! The feast awaits you in the Great Hall, so if you are all ready, please follow me up the hill."

He barely took one step before a boy blurted out, "What? We're not going to _walk_ up there?"

Very calmly, Tryggvason looked at the boy, who Dieter now noticed was the same boy who had asked for his seat on the ship. The Oberpräfekt explained, "Of course we will. It is school tradition that at the beginning of the year, every student must climb the one thousand, one hundred and thirty-five steps of Cardiac Slope. However, if you do not want to climb the Cardiac Steps, you are always free to go back onboard the ship, and you will be taken back to your homes."

Tryggvason's calm, level composure was betrayed by a very slight smile – he was enjoying the horrified look on the black-haired boy's face. Dieter also found it amusing, but he noticed that Konrad bore a slight frown. Evidently, he wasn't thrilled by the prospect of climbing a steep slope either.

"Don't worry about it," Dieter muttered to him. "It's easier than it looks."

Konrad nodded, but he wasn't convinced. He was at least taking things better than many other students. Looks of dread were quite pervasive, and Dieter noticed that the nervous girl who had trouble climbing the rope ladder aboard the ship looked like she would faint. There were many grumblings and mutterings at the announcement, but Tryggvason ignored them.

"Does anyone want to go back on the ship?" he asked. Dieter looked around to see if anyone would answer, but no one did. "Good," Tryggvason said. "The faster you walk, the sooner everyone gets to eat. But we won't start the feast until every student has made it to the Great Hall, so it behoves you to not leave behind any stragglers. Now, shall we?"

Dieter gave the Durmstrang ship a parting glance: Die Seeschlange was a majestic vessel to look at, but the view was best appreciated from the outside.

With the Oberpräfekt in the lead and his two assistants at the middle and end, the group of first-years walked on a path of large flagstones that would not remain flat and level for long. Dieter and Konrad were towards the front of the group. A step appeared as soon as the path reached the forest – the first of many. It was an endless trail of stone steps snaking their way between tall trees and up the slope.

They passed a sign that simply read: '_50/1135_'. Breathing a little heavily, Dieter took each step with calculated strides and pacing, but others didn't have such discipline. One girl with her hair in a braided tail decided to take the Cardiac Steps at a run. Grinning and flushed with energy, she darted past everyone and disappeared around a bend.

Dieter shook his head in amusement. The girl would not go far before exhausting herself.

Sometimes the steps were spaced far apart as the trail became shallower in gradient, while at other points it was quite steep. As the group of first-years laboured up the slope, Dieter was under the impression that wizarding children did not get that much exercise. He was at the front of the pack, and was genuinely surprised at how much difficulty everyone else was having. He halted for a moment, allowed Konrad to catch up with him, and asked, "I thought you said you played 'Kwidditch'?"

Konrad stopped walking. He breathed, "I do. B-but, it's all… upper body… strength. Not much done… with the legs."

They passed more signs.

'_150/1135_'…

'_200/1135_'…

'_250/1135_'…

At the two hundred fifty step point, Dieter had caught up to the girl who had run ahead. She was sitting on a boulder and looked visibly exhausted, even faint. Dieter was surprised she had even made it this far.

"Go more slowly next time," Oberpräfekt Tryggvason said to the girl, who weakly nodded. She eased herself off the rock and staggered up the trail, but she only made it a few steps before collapsing to her knees and palms.

"You there," Tryggvason ordered, and Dieter realised the Head Präfekt was talking to him. "Help her up please, and assist her the rest of the way."

Dieter groaned in protest, but Tryggvason kept walking and didn't seem to hear or care. _Why should I help her?_ Dieter thought. _It's her fault she's tired. She got herself into it!_

Not all that willingly, he seized the girl's hand and pulled her up onto her feet. "Can you walk on your own?" Dieter asked, hoping the answer would be 'yes'.

Instead of answering with words, she leaned on Dieter's shoulder to keep herself upright. Some incoherent mumblings escaped her mouth, but the only thing he could make out of them was that the girl was in little condition for independent movement.

Burdened with his charge, Dieter fell behind, allowing the slower students in the group to catch up. Konrad grinned and waved as he passed, but didn't have the breath to say anything. "Come on," Dieter urged to the girl. "You have to move."

"Mmbmmm," she replied, and continued to lean on his shoulder.

Dieter muttered darkly under his breath. If it weren't for the fact that nobody would eat until every first-year made it to the castle, Dieter would have been perfectly content with leaving the girl where she was. He sighed and held out his arm. "Hold on. I'll pull you," he said with resignation.

She took his right arm in hand for support, and Dieter marched up the steps, pulling her along. Her footsteps were poorly coordinated and she stumbled a few times on the ascending flagstones, but she managed to at least walk with his assistance. Dieter was very relieved that he didn't have to carry her, though if it had come to that, he might have just dragged her instead.

However, Dieter wasn't alone in being charged with delivering human cargo, as some other students had also been paired with weaklings. _Don't wizards have ANY physical education programmes?_ Dieter thought. _Apparently not…_

The little daylight present during the ship's arrival had faded to be replaced by star-studded blackness. The path was increasingly hard to see, and Dieter had to be careful and watch his footing. The girl he was pulling was having considerably less luck and repeatedly tripping on the stone steps.

Lights appeared ahead, and Dieter was immensely relieved. He quickened his pace and unceremoniously towed the girl behind him.

He was disappointed to realise that the light came not from the castle, but from Oberpräfekt Tryggvason's wand, which he held aloft like a torch. "Congratulations everyone, we're little more than halfway there. Now, let's just wait for everyone to catch up, and then we'll start moving again…"

They were at the sign that said, '_600/1135_'. After about a minute, the tail-end präfekt (also with a lit wand) arrived with his charges, and all of the first-years were assembled.

"Hello, everyone!" Tryggvason announced. "As you can see, it is now dark and hard to see things. So, I'm going to teach you the simplest spell in the world to fix this. Get your wands out, please."

The girl was resting on Dieter's shoulders again and holding onto his right arm. Annoyed, Dieter extracted his wand from his pocket with his left hand.

"The incantation is 'Lumos', and there is no wand waving required. So, everyone with me… _Lumos!"_

The sudden brightness blinded Dieter for a moment, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Once they did, he could see the path with perfect clarity.

"Congratulations. You just learned your first spell at Durmstrang, and to put out the light, simply say, 'Nox'. Now, let's go."

They walked. Dieter again served as a locomotive for the girl, but he was starting to wonder whether she was truly exhausted or just taking advantage of him.

'_750/1135_'…

The girl spoke for the first time. "What's your name?" she asked, short of breath. Dieter couldn't fathom why she would be tired, as he had been doing most the walking for her for half of the distance to the castle. All she had to do was not fall over.

"Dieter," he answered. "Yours?"

"Gerta," she said. "Thank you for helping me up this hill Dieter. You are such a gentleman."

Under his breath, Dieter muttered, _"And you are a dummkopf, Gerta."_ Because she hadn't thought to pace herself, Dieter had been delegated to correct her error in judgement.

"What was that?" Gerta questioned suddenly.

"Nothing," said Dieter evasively. "Anyway, since you now seem to have enough energy to talk, you must have enough energy to walk. Will you let go of my arm?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm tired. And what was it you said?"

"I told you, it was nothing." Dieter was really starting to get annoyed.

"It didn't sound like it," Gerta persisted. "You said something about me. Tell me."

Dieter decided to ignore her and just keep walking, but Gerta had other plans. She tightened her grip on his arm, stood still, and leaned backwards. Dieter nearly lost his footing with the sudden shift in weight.

"What is the matter with you?" he hissed.

"Tell me what you said," she urged again.

"Fine! I called you a dummkopf."

She put a pouty face. "That's not very nice!"

Dieter did not feel compelled to answer, and decided to free himself from her grip instead. The path darkened as he stowed away the wand in his free left hand, which he thereafter used to pry Gerta's fingers off his wrist. "Hey!" she said.

She retaliated by wiggling her fingers and aiming a thrust at Dieter's midsection. "What are you doing?"

"Hold still, Dieter. I'm trying to tickle you!"

Dieter ran to put some distance between her. "Auf Wiedersehen!" he shouted cheerfully, free from Gerta at last.

"Don't run away!" She called after him. She vainly tried to keep up, but she slowed to a stop and rested against a nearby tree. "You're supposed to be a gentleman and help me up the steps!"

_Girls… They really are from another planet_, Dieter mused while shaking his head. He worked his way up the trail, passing the slower students and slowly making his way to the front of the pack. Eventually, he caught up to Konrad.

"Where's your friend?" he grinned. Dieter flatly answered that she had decided she didn't need any more help.

Through gaps in the trees, Durmstrang castle slowly swam into view. From the low vantage point along the path, it appeared massive and daunting. Count Sven Thorsten Ulrich von Durmstrang had chosen the site for his fortress school well. Dieter couldn't imagine having to assault it – climbing the slope alone was tiring enough, but while wearing armour and getting shot at by archers…

But would wizards even fight that way? Dieter remembered that wizards could ride broomsticks and even materialise in and out of space, and with that in mind, the advantage rendered by the castle's high perch was considerably reduced. That thought didn't make the castle any look any less impressive, though.

They finally passed a sign that read, '_1100/1135_'. An open gatehouse appeared around the bend, and the trail finally started to level off slightly.

Konrad looked behind Dieter and pointed. Eyes wide in terror, he shouted, "LOOK!"

Dieter whipped his head around and scanned the area with the light from his wand, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to see. The students climbing the stairs behind him looked at him funnily, while others concealed grins.

When Dieter looked to his front again, he saw Konrad running up the path as quickly as he could. He passed a few students, Oberpräfekt Tryggvason, and made it to the gatehouse. Chest heaving, he leaned against the stones, faced the incoming group, and exclaimed, "FIRST!"

"Why, you…" Dieter muttered. Shortly, he too made it to the gatehouse. Above the entrance was a large triangular plaque bearing the inscribed circle and line. Bordering the two sides at the top were the words, _Durmstrang-Institut für das Magisches Lernen_, and beneath the seal, _Potentia Verum Est_.

The gatehouse (complete with murder holes and a raised portcullis) opened into the ward of Durmstrang castle. There was a small grass lawn within the curtain wall, against which some hardy vines and trees grew.

Though the one thousand, one hundred thirty-five steps of Cardiac Slope officially stopped at the foot of the gatehouse, the castle itself was constructed on less than level ground. More flagstone steps followed after the courtyard, but the path finally stopped at a pair of open doors of imposing height. A tall, robed figure stood in the yellowish light streaming from the opening.

As Dieter approached, the wizard's features came into view. It was the Deputy Rector, Professor Odoaker.

"Ah, thank you, Dag," he said to the Oberpräfekt. "Take a seat in the Great Hall. I'll take over from here."

As more of the first-years arrived up the flagstone path, Odoaker spoke, "Please, everyone. Come inside, out of the cold."

Dieter didn't feel particularly cold at all. In fact, he felt rather warm wearing a robe over his clothes and having walked up a steep slope. Nevertheless, he did what the Deputy Rector said and stepped into the antechamber. Torches on the wall shed flickering light.

"Wiktoria, is that everyone?"

The female präfekt answered, "No Professor. We're still waiting for Wenzeslaus who's with about a dozen of the first-years. They've been having trouble with the Steps."

Odoaker nodded in acknowledgement. "Very well. Then we shall wait."

Dieter couldn't see the Gerta girl amongst the first-years crowded in the entrance hall. Dieter didn't want everyone to have to wait for her, but he did not regret escaping her parasitic grip.

A few minutes went by, and finally the last of the first-years arrived, Gerta among them. With the exception of the bespectacled mid-ranked präfekt, they all looked exhausted. "Everyone is accounted for," the older student announced.

"Thank you. Wiktoria, Wenzeslaus, you may go inside," Professor Odoaker said.

Once the two older students exited through the tall oaken doors, the tall wizard addressed the new arrivals. "Welcome to Durmstrang, first-years. Some of you may already know me, but I am Theoderich Odoaker, Deputy Rector and Professor of Potions for Upper Division students. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, and all you have to do is take your seats at any tables that are available. However, tonight we have a very important guest, so you will be on your absolute best behaviour. Is that understood?"

He said this very calmly, but it was a command, not a request. Everyone nodded.

"Very well. Enjoy the feast," he invited, opening the double doors to the Great Hall.

It was a magnificent room of impressive proportions. Enormous windows to Dieter's front and left showed the dark, starry sky outside, but the interior was illuminated by hundreds of torches suspended from the walls and chandeliers of wrought iron. Decorating the walls were many tall crimson banners, each topped with the triangular emblem of wizardry.

Dieter and Konrad entered the Great Hall at a brisk walk, trying to stay ahead of everyone else so as to find a good seat. Though the hall housed four enormous, long tables, the only spaces available for the first-years were at the very rear. Dieter found this puzzling, for in his experience at Muggle school, students usually sat at the back of any room when given the option, in order to be as far away from their instructors' gazes. He was soon given an answer to this question.

"It's him!" Konrad gasped. He was not the only first-year to do so.

"Who?" asked Dieter.

Konrad pointed at the High Table at the front of the Great Hall, where all the teachers were seated. Trying to keep his voice down, he said, "There, in the middle. It's the Zaubererreich Kanzler – Gellert Grindelwald!"

The Chancellor of the Wizarding Reich had his seat in the position of honour. Even while seated, he was a visibly tall man. He also had bright, golden blond hair, but that was the only other aspect of his appearance Dieter could discern from the distance.

And that was why all of the last available seats were at the rears of the tables. 'Very important guest' seemed to be an understatement, as all the students wanted to sit as close to their Chancellor as possible. Dieter suspected the same thing would happen if Adolf Hitler ever decided (however unlikely) to visit his former school back home.

"Come on," Konrad urged, gesturing towards an unoccupied bench, as it was the closest they could get to the front of the Great Hall. Even once seated, Konrad edged as close as he could to the Head Table without touching the older student, presumably a second year, who sat next to him.

All eyes were fixed towards the front, but Grindelwald (who Dieter only now realised gave the name to the magical plaza he had purchased his school supplies almost an entire year before) was merely conversing with the other adults at the High Table.

The double doors closed once the last of the first-years entered the hall and took their seats. Professor Odoaker walked down a side aisle to avoid attention, but that was hardly needed. Once he sat down in one of the chairs in the middle of the High Table, the wizard on Grindelwald's left stood. Dieter could not make out his features with much clarity, but his robes were of a brown colour, rather than Durmstrang crimson.

"May I have your attention please?" the wizard said in a slightly high-pitched voice, reminding Dieter of Reich Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels. His appeal for quiet was unnecessary, however, as everyone had already exercised considerable restraint in regards to volume in the Zaubererreich Kanzler's presence. "Thank you. Welcome back to Durmstrang students, and for you first-years, I am Professor Wotan Steiger, the Rector of this school. The start of term banquet will begin in… forty-three seconds," he said, consulting a pocket watch. "And will continue for precisely one hour, ending at twenty-thirty. This will be ample time to settle down and be attentive for some important announcements. That is all."

He said that all very quickly in a dispassionate, (albeit slightly squeaky) business-like manner. Once he sat back down in his chair, the feast immediately started.

Spaced about every five metres on the table were things that resembled trapdoors. Each one snapped open simultaneously, and hundreds of silver plates, forks, knives, and spoons shot out of the openings and arranged themselves in front of each student. The food and drink followed not a moment later, and Dieter was surprised that the dishes and goblets hadn't spilled their contents all over the place.

Dieter hadn't eaten anything since breakfast that morning, so he piled as much food onto his plate as possible. Given his preference to meat over vegetables, Dieter's meal ended up being overwhelmingly carnivorous. He helped himself to roast beef and chicken, pork chops, and fish of some sort. He took a sip of whatever was in the goblet, and it turned out to be the same kind of turnip tea he had first drunk at Herr Strichleiter's house. As he was thirsty, he didn't mind the taste, or lack thereof.

There was an odd lack of conversation as the students ate, as mostly everyone had been exhausted by the long climb up Cardiac Slope. About half an hour passed before the buzz of idle chatter finally filled the Hall, after students had for the most part cleared their plates.

Dieter asked Konrad a question that had been intriguing him for some time now. He pointed at one of the banners on the walls with a piece of silvery cutlery and said, "I've been meaning to ask, what exactly does that symbol mean?"

Konrad looked up from his potatoes. "Oh that? It's the symbol of the Zaubererreich, the Three Unions. Most people just call it the Triangle, or the Tri-Eye."

Now that Konrad mentioned it, the Three Unions did look something like an eye, though not a human one. With that thought in his head, the Great Hall was surrounded by dozens of these immense black and white eyes, staring down at the students. To think of other things, he asked, "So it's the Three Unions. What is it supposed to represent?"

"I was getting to that," Konrad commented. Using his fork as a pointer, he traced the vertical line in the centre. He explained, "The line represents a wand, standing for wizardkind. Then the circle represents… something round, and the triangle stands for something with three sides. That's the Three Unions."

"So what _do_ the circle and the triangle represent?" Dieter prodded.

Konrad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I forgot," he explained simply.

Meanwhile, the other first-years at the table were swapping introductions and discussing their first acts of magic.

"…My mother was ever so angry when I lit Madam Vigée's hair on fire," said a boy named Jean Mayr, who Dieter figured must have been Alsatian by his name and accent. "But papa got a good laugh out of that."

Konrad introduced himself to the other boys and said, "Well, I can't top what you did, but the first magic act I remember doing was when I was seven, and it had something to do with a squirrel…"

To Dieter, the tales were wild and absurd. They talked about how they had changed the colour of things, made people's eyebrows grow at a rapid rate, or lit random objects on fire. Dieter had done none of that as a young wizard. He had no spectacular first feats of magic. What he had were unusual incidents that Dieter thought could only have been attributed to magic with hindsight. A horrible thought ravaged Dieter's brain – could he already be a mediocre wizard, before even starting school?

"And what about you?" Konrad said to Dieter. "What did you do?"

Dieter introduced himself while he stalled for time. In a stroke of luck, he remembered an incident that could work. "Well, there was this one time a few years ago, when I was riding my bicycle down a path in the forest, and–"

"Byesickle? What's a byesickle?" questioned a brown-haired boy named Heinrich.

"It's a thing that Muggles ride," explained Dieter.

Konrad said, "What, like a broom?"

"Think of it like a broom but with wheels, and it doesn't fly." It was the best description Dieter could think of for the audience he was dealing with.

"So you're Muggle-born?" Heinrich asked with his eyebrows raised. Dieter answered yes, and Heinrich did not ask any further questions on the matter. "Uh-huh," he merely stated casually. "Well, that 'byesickle' sounds pretty primitive. I happen to prefer the _Zephyr Blitz_, nothing less than the best racing broom out there."

"What?" Konrad blurted. "You can't be serious about the Zephyrs. Everyone knows the Speer line is the best."

"Oh really?" Heinrich retorted haughtily. "So tell me, can the Speer 130 outrun a Zephyr Blitz, or a Zephyr Adler? I don't think so."

"It's not just about speed. You can't forget acceleration! Who cares if the Zephyr is a little faster than the Speer? It doesn't matter, because by the time you get to that high speed on the Zephyr, you've already flown out of the stadium boundaries!"

The two boys argued about broomsticks, and Dieter's story about emerging unscathed from a spectacular bicycle crash was totally forgotten. Dieter suspected that the pair would continue to quarrel forever about the Zephyr and the Speer if desserts hadn't arrived as a distraction.

"Cake!" Dieter exclaimed excitedly, and conversations ended as the various confections of cakes, pies, ice cream, and sweets. He grabbed a bit of everything and piled it on his plate, which had mysteriously cleaned itself spotless after his main course.

For fifteen minutes, everyone happily indulged themselves in the desserts, but at precisely twenty thirty, the trapdoors in the tables flapped open. All the plates and cutlery disappeared through them, regardless of whether people were done eating or not. "Hey!" an older girl shouted as her fork, with a piece of cake impaled on its end, zoomed out of her hand.

The trapdoors snapped shut and locked themselves. Following the abrupt end to the banquet, all eyes turned towards the High Table. There were quite a few heads in Dieter's way, so he leaned back into the aisle to get a better view.

Rector Steiger got up from his seat, went around the Head table, and stood behind a podium. "Greetings, students, to a new year at Durmstrang. From its very beginnings over eight hundred years ago, this school has been among the finest magical institutions in the world, with renowned standards of excellence. For centuries, Durmstrang Institute has trained thousands of wizards and witches in all the magical arts…"

What followed was a very clinical, boring speech about the value of education, and how Durmstrang Institute prepared youngsters for the future. Dieter found his attention waning, but he didn't dare look away or start talking, with all the school staff and the Zaubererreich Kanzler at the High Table.

"…That a rigorous, balanced education is the wizarding world's best investment for the times that lie ahead, and Durmstrang Institute is committed to this noble purpose…"

The speech eventually ended, and seemingly everyone in the hall was relieved. But in his same, monotone but slightly high-pitched voice, the Rector concluded, "And now, it gives me immense pleasure to welcome a former Durmstrang student and the Zaubererreich Kanzler himself, Gellert Grindelwald."

Grindelwald stood up, and the reaction was immediate. Everyone in the Great Hall, including the professors at the front, stood up. Though Dieter knew next to nothing about the magical hermit community, he appreciated their discipline, even if they weren't National Socialists.

The Chancellor of the wizarding world walked around the High Table towards the podium, which the Rector had vacated. However, instead of standing behind it, he stood in front. In a great, carrying voice, he spoke.

"Forty-five years ago, I too was a student at Durmstrang. I was curious young wizard in an unfamiliar place. Yet the Durmstrang I attended nearly a half-century ago was not the same school we have today. The old Durmstrang was a crumbling one – a school crumbling in spirit. It was a school beset by arrogance and strife, obsessed with petty, schismatic trifles of status and class. The old Durmstrang was reclusive and cowardly, and fearful of change. If only the old masters of the school could see the change happening today!"

This speech couldn't have been more different than the Rector's. The students were listening, enraptured, to each of the Chancellor's fiery words.

"Look around you, students!" Grindelwald boomed. "_You_ are the product of that change. _You_ are the realisation of a great vision – a vision the old masters deemed too dangerous and radical for this hallowed Hall. It is this vision that has brought you all here today, for I see before me young wizards and witches united by the magic we share, not divided by our petty differences. I see youth from the old traditions of wizardkind, and newcomers to our world. I see youth from the north and the south, the west and the east, youth from every corner of the Zaubererreich and beyond! You are that great vision, the vision of a world in which birth is _nothing_, and strength of character and magical ability is all!

"That is why you are at Durmstrang, young wizards and witches. You have all been blessed by Fortune's good graces with the gift of magic. It is a gift that cannot go to waste, for magic is a power. It is a power that allows us – that allows _you_ – to make an indelible impact on this world, to change this world for the better! You will learn, and you will grow, and one day, you will continue the legacy your forebears have started. You will be the beating heart of the Wizarding Revolution! _You_ are the future leaders of the world!"

Hundreds of students roared their approval. Dieter didn't understand everything being said, but he felt empowered nonetheless and shouted too. The cheering died down and Grindelwald continued.

"You will be fighters, not followers. You will have the courage to face danger; you will accept privations and never collapse! And there is no retreat from the long, difficult path ahead of us. There will be a day in your lifetime when all magical peoples, this brotherhood of wizardry, unites to set wizardkind free! We will bring light where it is dark, and order to where there is chaos. There will be lasting peace, but it is up to us – it is up to you, to fulfill it! The fulfillment of the Second Zaubererreich is inevitable! The Reclamation is inevitable! And this new world will all be _for the greater good!"_

Dieter was deafened by the tumult that followed. The Great Hall rang with hundreds of voices that chorused, _"For the greater good! For the greater good!"_

Arms went out in a mass salute different from the one Dieter was familiar with – hands thrust wands towards the ceiling, and many students fired brilliant red sparks into the air. By reflex, Dieter had had responded with a National Socialist salute at the first sign of movement, but he had to stop and retrieve his wand from his pockets to deliver the new gesture. Fortunately, nobody noticed his mistake, or cared.

The Zaubererreich Kanzler walked down the centre aisle at a brisk pace, only casually acknowledging the praises and greetings he received. He must have been running on a tight schedule, or else he should have at least shaken a few people's hands.

Then Dieter realised with a jolt that Grindelwald would walk past him within mere seconds. He knew almost nothing about the wizard, but he suddenly felt overwhelmed by his presence, for the Chancellor had a manic energy surrounding him that no one could escape. The hysteria of the audience could attest to that.

Time seemed to slow down, ever so slightly, as Gellert Grindelwald passed by. Though he was in his fifties as implied in his speech, he did not look his age. There was something youthful and boyish to his broad smile and bright blue eyes. He had a small, pointy beard that curled up slightly at the tip, and wavy blond hair that reached to his shoulders. His wizard robe was a deep maroon, and around his neck he wore a small gold pendent bearing the sign of the Three Unions.

Grindelwald waved a long, thin wand and the tall doors of the Great Hall opened to permit his exit. It took several minutes for the cheering and chanting to end. Some eager students kept shooting sparks into the air long after everyone else had stowed their wands away.

A slightly squeaky voice announced, "Students, please. If I may have your attention." It was the Rector, whose name Dieter had forgotten in the excitement. "This concludes the start-of-term banquet. Präfekts, Professor Odoaker, please escort the students to their dormitories."

Dieter didn't pay much attention to the journey through winding corridors that followed, for he was lost in his thoughts. The Zaubererreich Kanzler's speech was still ringing in his ears. _Strength and ability are all… You are the future leaders of the world... Fighters, not followers… _

The words were intoxicating. They made him feel important, and buoyed his spirits. Bumping into the student in front of him brought crashing back into the real world.

Professor Odoaker and two präfekts had led the first-years – perhaps some fifty to sixty in number – to a plain oak door with the Roman numeral one on it. The Deputy Rector opened the door and the first-years crowded into a tall, round room a fireplace against a wall and a several armchairs, tables, and sofas.

"Welcome to the first-year common room and dormitories," Odoaker announced. "Now, I know you've had a long day, so I will not keep you here for long. All that needs to be done now is determine which room each of you will be sleeping in, and that will be all for tonight."

Odoaker introduced his two student assistants as Hauptpräfekts Wenzeslaus Ziegelstein and Wiktoria _Płużanka_ – Dieter thought there had to have been a build-up of wax in his ear, because he couldn't have heard that last name correctly. The first-years were divided into two queues, with girls lining up in front of the female Hauptpräfekt and the boys with the dull one with the glasses. Dieter and Konrad were together, towards the front of the boy's line.

"You will choose your room by randomly picking a key out of a sack," Professor Odoaker instructed. "Your room number is on your key, and that's where you'll go. I hope I don't need to remind any of you not to lose your keys. Now, are there any questions?"

There were none. Odoaker concluded, "Very well. Make sure to get a good night's sleep tonight, no matter how tempting it may be to get to know your roommates…"

Hauptpräfekt Ziegelstein sounded quite bored as he motioned for each boy to approach and pull a key out of a silk bag he held in his hands. Each boy took out a key, and a magic quill on a nearby table recorded the rooming arrangements. The line moved surprisingly quickly, and soon it was Dieter's turn.

"Name?" the bespectacled präfekt said in his bored, tired voice. Dieter gave his name, and he was prompted to take a key from the bag.

He reached in and closed his fingers around cold iron. The key that came out bore the address, '_6J_'. The magic quill recorded this.

Dieter turned to Konrad and waved a wordless "good luck." Though random selection was a good way to meet new people, Dieter had gotten along well with Konrad on the lengthy boat trip and hoped he would be one of his roommates. Save for the Heinrich boy, the other first-years Dieter had met at the table had been friendly enough, and could make good roommates.

He passed through a door labelled 'boys', and proceeded up a narrow spiral staircase six levels. Once Dieter made it to the landing in front of room 6J, he decided he had had enough of climbing steps.

Room 6J was perfectly round and rather small, evidently residing in a narrow tower. There was a single, large window directly opposite the door, and on either side of this aperture were two bunk beds that fitted snugly against the curved wall. Some storage space was situated to the sides, and to the left of the door Dieter had just entered was the lavatory.

"Top bunk!" he said, mostly to himself. As he didn't have much of anything to mark his territory, he took off his Durmstrang robes and threw it onto the top bunk to right of the window. He also stripped off the superficial tie and armband from the Deutsches Jungvolk uniform he had been wearing underneath the crimson cloak.

His trunk was missing, and Dieter wondered whether it was still on Die Seeschlange. As if to answer that very question, the window burst open and something big, boxy, and brown flew into the room. It was his trunk.

Dieter heard the lock to the door turn, and Konrad entered the room. "Well, well, isn't this an extraordinary coincidence?" he said. A few seconds later, the window opened violently for a second time, and Konrad's luggage landed in the room. He claimed the other top bunk.

Several minutes passed before the next roommate arrived. In that time, Dieter decided to get ready for bed, first by brushing his teeth. He left the lavatory door open as he busied himself with his toothbrush and toothpaste.

He didn't expect Konrad to ask, "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what it looks like. I'm brushing my teeth."

Konrad walked closer and curiously inspected the implement with little bristles on its end. "Why do you need a brush for your teeth? There aren't any hairs in your mouth–"

The lock clunked and the door opened. Dieter quickly rinsed out his mouth and stepped out of the lavatory to see who had come inside.

It was a boy Dieter hadn't seen before, wearing a worn Durmstrang robe that didn't quite fit his lean frame. Everything about him seemed to be vertical. He was skinny, taller than Dieter, and had a narrow face. His dark brown hair was for the most part combed, but some stray strands stuck up at the back.

"Ah, welcome to room 6J, new roommate," Konrad greeted enthusiastically. He offered his hand for the new boy to shake and asked, "So, who might you be?"

"Ernst Busch," he answered. He shook Konrad's and Dieter's hands, who replied with their own introductions. Ernst's voice was quiet and reserved, but his grip was at least firm. He took off his Durmstrang robe to reveal a worn buttoned shirt and trousers.

"Are you Muggle-born?" Konrad asked, and Ernst nodded reservedly.

"Dieter is too," said Konrad, but Ernst already knew that just by looking at Dieter's outfit.

A third trunk entered through the window. It was battered, and some of the leather coating was peeling off the wooden frame. Ernst's ears and cheeks turned slightly red, and he was doing his best not to be embarrassed by the state of his luggage or the clothes he was wearing.

"Isn't this castle incredible?" he asked in a diversionary effort. "I cannot wait for classes to start tomorrow, and I never would of thought I could learn to do magic…"

They conversed about the various subjects they thought sounded interesting. Ernst had some enthusiasm for Transfiguration and Charms, and he managed to smile just slightly while mentioning those topics.

The door was unlocked and opened for the last time. The three boys abruptly ended their conversation and looked to see who would be the fourth roommate.

A tall, thin boy with mid-length black hair entered room 6J. It was the same boy who a few hours before had asked for a seat on the ship and complained to the Oberpräfekt about climbing Cardiac Slope.

His eyes swept from Dieter, and then to Ernst. He did not look pleased, and grumbled something that Dieter couldn't catch. It didn't even sound like German.

"Well?" Konrad prompted.

In an unplaceable accent, the boy gave a very forced "Hello." He very obviously wanted nothing more than to leave.

"So, what's your name?" Dieter asked insistently. The boy fixed him a cold stare.

"Karkaroff. Igor Karkaroff."


	10. Untermenschen

Hello, readers! This chapter would have come out yesterday, but was having technical difficulties and wouldn't let me update until today. Anyway, enjoy!

_~ Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter X: Untermenschen**

_Igor Karkaroff… Karkaroff!_ It was impossible. It had to be a mistake. They could never allow it...

The window banged open and a fourth trunk entered, but nobody paid it much notice. All attention was focused on the strange newcomer.

The Karkaroff boy avoided looking at Dieter and Ernst. "Can you believe this?" he said to Konrad.

"Believe what?"

_"This,"_ Karkaroff stressed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Who could have thought this school would stoop so low, by admitting these Mudbloods in?"

"Say that again," Konrad demanded, stepping forwards. Dieter didn't know what 'Mudblood' meant, but it couldn't be anything good. His opinion of the Karkaroff boy had gone very quickly from one of mere dislike to outright contempt.

Karkaroff looked betrayed and unbelieving. "You're not defending _them,_ are you?" Pointing at Dieter and Ernst, not caring that they were there, he openly declared, "They're _Mudbloods._ They're not even real wizards. They don't belong here!"

Dieter couldn't believe what he was hearing either, and flushed with anger, he went on the attack. "No, YOU'RE the one who doesn't belong here!" he shouted back, jabbing his finger at Karkaroff's face. "You're a filthy SLAV! This is a German school! You don't belong here!"

The Slav retorted, "What, and you _do?_ The Karkaroffs have attended Durmstrang for generations, and I, being a PURE-BLOOD WIZARD, have much more right to be here than you Mudbloods!"

Dieter didn't understand the context of the word 'Mudblood', and he didn't care to ask Karkaroff to elaborate. All Dieter knew was that it sounded like a dire insult, and that the Slav must be repaid in kind. "Like hell! Us three are German! Durmstrang is German! And if you haven't noticed, even you are speaking German! You better leave now while you still have the chance, _Untermensch!_ There must have been a mistake when they invited students, because Durmstrang doesn't admit vermin!"

And so they shouted, calling each other 'Mudblood' and 'Untermensch.' Soon, neither understood the other at all, as Karkaroff had switched to his native, barbarian tongue and wasn't terribly interested in what Dieter had to say. They both approached each other and looked ready to trade blows.

"Please, could you stop this? I need to go to sleep." Ernst pleaded to absolutely no effect. Konrad simply watched Dieter and Karkaroff argue, and looked completely baffled.

The door flew open. "Boys!" an adult voice shouted.

The room fell silent. Dieter's fist, which was on a collision course with Karkaroff's jaw, slackened and fell short of its target.

Professor Odoaker was at the door. He glanced at Dieter's and the Slav's flushed features, and said sardonically, "So, I see you are getting to know your roommates?"

The four boys nodded, unsure of how else to respond.

"You will go to bed _now,"_ the Deputy Rector ordered. "After you spend the night sleeping on your petty arguments, you will cooperate with each other in the morning. Do I make myself understood?"

"Yes, sir," four voices answered.

"Then goodnight, boys. I will not tolerate fighting, so let this be your first and last warning." The Deputy Rector left the room, and the lock clicked.

Karkaroff determinedly avoided looking at either Dieter or Ernst while he moved his trunk to the bed underneath Dieter's. The trunk looked very expensive, and gold Cyrillic letters spelled the Slav's name on top.

They dressed into their nightclothes, and nobody spoke. Once reasonably certain that Karkaroff was asleep, Dieter whispered, "Konrad, what does 'Mudblood' mean?"

Konrad glanced at the door. "I'll tell you tomorrow," he whispered back.

The lights went out, and Dieter settled under his blanket, thinking about what the Slav had called him.

Meanwhile, Karkaroff was preoccupied by the same thoughts, trying to understand what 'Under-man' really meant.

* * *

_CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!_

Dieter was jolted out of his sleep by a very loud and very obnoxious metallic ringing sound. He sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. They took a few moments to adjust to the lights, and once they had, he spotted the bell suspended from the centre of the ceiling. Dieter hadn't paid it much notice the night before, but he suspected that the bell would make its presence well known for the next year at Durmstrang.

"Wake up, rapscallions!" the bell yelled, moving its rim and clapper like a mouth, and Dieter never would have thought something this absurd would administer his morning call. "Daybreak approaches, so get out of your beds! Get dressed and ready for instruction, young sorcerers, and assemble in the common room in a half hour!"

Dieter yawned and checked his wristwatch, which he had forgotten to take off the previous night. It was five thirty in the morning.

On the opposite side of the room, Ernst was already changing into his Durmstrang robes. On the top bunk however, Konrad was still asleep, holding his pillow to his ears like a big pair of earmuffs.

Disturbingly, the bell either sensed or saw that one boy did not stir. "I said wake up, you knave!" _CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!BANG!CLANG!_

"SHUT UP!" Dieter yelled, sticking his fingers into his ears. The bell really was obnoxious, but that paid dividends as Konrad finally got out from under the covers. "Really, who's idea was it…" he grumbled somewhat incoherently, as it coincided with a yawn.

Dieter jumped down from the top bunk, and found himself face to face with the Slav, who was also clambering off the bed. "You're still here?" Dieter asked, as if the boy's very presence was a personal offence and crime.

"And you?" Karkaroff replied with the exact tone, though in some Slavic accent. "Now get out of my way. I need to use the lavatory."

Dieter stepped to block the Slav's way, smiling sardonically. "Sorry, but the lavatory is for strictly human use. You'll have to go outside."

Karkaroff said something venomously in Russian or whatever his native speech happened to be, but Dieter ignored him. He beat the Slav to the washroom, locked the door behind him, and proceeded to take a short shower, which he had neglected to do the night before.

The three boys and the one Untermensch got ready for their first day of classes at Durmstrang. While the Slav took his turn in the lavatory and was out of earshot, Dieter asked Konrad, "What's a Mudblood? He called me and Ernst that last night."

Konrad's expression was grim. "What do you two have in common?"

Dieter and Ernst looked at each other. Though they had only met the night before, the answer wasn't hard to decipher.

"We're from the Muggle world," Ernst observed, before Dieter could answer the same thing himself.

"Correct," Konrad said, frowning. "'Mudblood' is a nasty word for wizards with Muggle parents. It's used by stupid, old-fashioned people who think that just by being Pure-blood practically makes them nobility. They see Muggle-borns as slugs or something, and unworthy of doing magic just because they weren't born into our world."

Seeing the expression on Dieter's face, Konrad continued, "I know, it's ridiculous. Magic doesn't care if you are Muggle-born, Half-blood, or Pure-blood. Either you are a wizard or you're not, but people like our friend, Karkaroff, are too stupid to realise this."

He gestured to the washroom, where Karkaroff was inside. "That's the sort of thing Chancellor Grindelwald is trying to change. Wizardkind must be united and strong, not divided by these ridiculous prejudices about blood status."

"That sounds fine, but 'united and strong' with people like _him?"_ Dieter queried sceptically.

Konrad didn't immediately answer, but after a pause, he gave a wry smile. He answered, "No, because he's complete bastard and I don't like him. You see how he looks at you two?" He checked his pocket watch. "Anyway, are we ready? We better go downstairs."

Dieter noticed that Konrad's pocket watch had twelve hands and little planets orbiting the rim. How it worked and was read was something Dieter was curious to know.

There were some students already in the common room when Dieter and the other two boys left their dormitory, seven minutes ahead of the required time. They had lef Karkaroff behind in the room, as the three boys were in no mood to have him as company.

The room gradually filled, but most students had to stand, as the comfy seats and sofas were taken by the early arrivals. Then, exactly at six o'clock, the door to the first-year dormitories creaked open and Professor Odoaker entered, along with Oberpräfekt Tryggvason and the two Hauptpräfekts.

"Good morning, students," Professor Odoaker greeted keenly.

Dieter and some other students replied with 'good mornings,' but most of the first-years only mumbled tiredly or said nothing.

"Now, I know you are probably tired and would rather go to sleep, but today is your first day of instruction at Durmstrang Institute. You will act like proper Durmstrang students starting now, and that begins with answering your Professor's greeting with a 'Good morning, Professor Odoaker'. So, let's try that again. Good morning, students."

"Good morning, Professor Odoaker," some sixty voices chanted.

"Better. Now, remember that at Durmstrang, you will show proper respect to your superiors. Though some professors here are stricter or less so about this rule than others, you will nonetheless address your professors as 'sir' or 'ma'am'. Is that understood?"

Professor Odoaker said this all very calmly and casually, but nobody wanted to test his patience. "Yes, sir," the students replied.

"There are several rules at Durmstrang that must be observed at all times, and – Berger, Muller, you're late. See me after this discussion to arrange your detentions."

Two girls had tried to sneak into the common room. After they had noticeably failed, the Deputy Rector went onwards with his announcements as if nothing had happened.

All students had to be at class on time. There was to be no fighting, spell casting, or flying in the corridors. Durmstrang uniform robes had to be worn at all times during normal school hours. In addition to the professors, there were fifteen youth leaders at the school: twelve ordinary präfekts, two Hauppräfekts, and one Oberpräfekt, with the latter ranks drawn from the seventh-year class. There were many rules to Durmstrang Institute, and Dieter listened intently. He distinctly knew that ignorance of rules would not be a valid excuse for anything, so he didn't want to miss anything the Professor said.

"…Please pay attention to the notice board, as it has important information that you shouldn't miss. Also posted on the board will be your marks in all of your classes, so please be very diligent with your work if you don't want to embarrass yourself in front of everyone in your year. And on that note, you will now receive your schedules."

Each student was given a piece of parchment with a chart on one side and a map of the castle on the other. Dieter's schedule for the day read:

_Dieter Eckhard Heydrich  
First-year, Class of 1946__  
_

_MONDAY, WEDNESDAY_

_6:00  
Morning Call_

_6:30 – 7:00  
Breakfast_

_7:10 – 8:40  
Flying and Quidditch Instruction, Professor A. Adlersflügel, Quidditch Pitch_

_8:50 – 10:20  
Herbology, Professor M. Lobkovskaya, Greenhouses_

_10:30 – 12:00  
Transfiguration, Professor L. Boehm, Room 36_

_12:00 – 12:50  
Lunch_

_13:00 – 14:30  
Charms, Professor R. Reinhard__, Room 142_

_14:40 – 16:10  
Defensive Magic, Professor B. Schmidt, Room 17_

_18:00 – 19:00  
Dinner_

_22:00  
Curfew and Lights Out_

The schedule for Tuesdays and Thursdays followed the same general format. Flying and Quidditch was again slotted for the morning, followed by Potions and History of Magic. Defensive Magic class was the only course immediately after lunch, since Astronomy was scheduled for twenty thirty to midnight.

Lastly, Dieter's Friday classes were Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and History of Magic. Every class was exactly an hour and a half long, so after some quick mental calculations, Dieter had six hours of Flying and Defensive Magic instruction per week, and four and a half hours of all of his other classes save for Astronomy, with only three hours. Dieter approved of his weekly schedule – learning how to fly and fight sounded the most interesting, and he appreciated having the largest share of time devoted to those activities.

"Can I look at your schedule, Dieter?" Konrad asked. They traded parchments, and Dieter discovered that Konrad had the same classes, as did Ernst.

"Do you think they're arranging this by rooms?" Ernst suggested.

On the other side of the room, the Karkaroff boy was looking at the three boys and probably wondering the same thing. Dieter and the Slav made eye contact and exchanged glares.

"Now, are there any questions before we let you go to breakfast?" the Deputy Rector said.

A boy standing next to Karkaroff raised his hand. Dieter recognised as the thickly built boy who accompanied Karkaroff on the ship. In the absolute, most atrocious German Dieter had ever heard (he didn't know whether to laugh or cringe), the boy asked _something_ about extra lessons of some sort. He tried to elaborate, but ended up switching to what sounded like Russian.

To Dieter's enormous surprise, Professor Odoaker replied in the same language. They exchanged a few lines of incoherent Slavic gibberish, and the Deputy Rector finished by addressing the students, "As you well know, German is the official language of instruction at Durmstrang Institute. However, for those of you from outside of the Zaubererreich's borders, Professor Simonov of the History of Magic Department offers German lessons for anyone who feels the need to improve their grasp on this language, so please see him. Are there any more questions?"

There were none. "Good. That's all I have to say, so thank you for your attention. Enjoy your first day of class."

Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst rushed back to their room to get the appropriate books for their classes. They passed Karkaroff on the way back down the spiral stairs, but nobody felt the need to ask him any questions about his schedule.

As they walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, Dieter couldn't help but think about Professor Odoaker's announcement about remedial German language classes. Why were Slavs, some who couldn't even speak German properly, even admitted to Durmstrang Institute to begin with? It made absolutely no sense to put Aryans and Untermenschen together in one place. Didn't the Rector think about his students' safety?

And with horrifying realisation, Dieter suddenly remembered that there were more Slavs in the castle than Karkaroff and his unlearned companion. Odoaker had mentioned a Professor Simonov, and consulting his class schedule, Dieter found out that he would be teaching his History of Magic class. Another Untermensch taught Herbology. How could sub-humans even _teach?_ How many more Slavs were at Durmstrang that Dieter didn't know about?

For the first time, Dieter wondered if going to Durmstrang was a good thing to do. He had to doubt the wisdom of some of the school's policies.

They reached the Great Hall and took some seats closer to the High Table than the previous night. Dieter could see the Rector (whose name he still couldn't remember) eating some sausages. The wizard was an incredibly boring looking man with small round spectacles, a neatly trimmed moustache, and a comb-over that fooled no one. It was no wonder why the Deputy Rector, Professor Odoaker did all of the visible administrative work requiring interaction with students, rather than the actual head of the school.

The tables were already laden with food, so Dieter immediately helped himself to some eggs. While Konrad and Dieter shovelled breakfast onto their plates, Ernst didn't touch any food at all. Instead, he folded his hands underneath the table and uttered a silent prayer. Proving himself a Catholic, he finished by crossing himself and saying in Latin, _"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti."_

"What does that mean?" Konrad asked curiously.

"It's _'In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,"_ Ernst explained in his quiet voice. When Konrad looked blank, Ernst said, "Please tell me that you wizards know about God."

"We do… or at least some of us. I don't know much about God-worshipping myself, though. What about you, Dieter?"

He swallowed some Blutwurst and answered, "Most of the people in my hometown are Lutherans, but my family has never been particularly religious. I think the last time I ever attended a church service was when I was five years old."

Perceptively, Ernst questioned, "And would this be around the same time our Führer came to lead the nation?"

"Now that you mention it, I suppose. Yes."

Ernst sighed. "Of course... People turn to God during hard times, yet are so quick to abandon Him when troubles go away." He did not sound angry, merely disappointed.

"Hmm?" Konrad grunted, as he couldn't think of a suitable question to ask and had no real idea what Ernst was talking about.

Dieter, on the other hand, had never made that connection before Ernst had mentioned it. His family had, in fact, stopped going to church at around the same time of the National Socialist Revolution, and now that he thought about it, the two must have been linked. Dieter was relieved to have avoided going to services for the last six or so years of his life, since all he could remember of church was agonising boredom. Since he didn't imagine Ernst would appreciate such comments, Dieter said nothing more about the matter of religion.

Fortunately, the conversation left that delicate topic behind and instead focused on their families. Dieter remembered telling Konrad about his parents, but nothing about his five siblings, so he described them in detail. He ended up mostly talking about his older brother Hans, and how annoying he was.

Konrad revealed that he was an only child. He sounded amazed and perhaps a little jealous, Dieter detected, at the prospect of having five brothers and sisters.

"So what about you, Ernst?" Dieter asked the quiet boy. If he was going to be one of his roommates for a year, he should get to know him better. "What's your family like?"

"We live in Nuremberg. I have a younger sister, Ilsa, who's now eight. I'll admit that she sometimes makes life difficult, but we get along just fine for the most part. After Professor Odoaker told my family that I was a wizard, my sister wouldn't leave me alone. She kept pestering me with questions about magic I couldn't answer."

Dieter laughed. "You're lucky. Imagine having four younger siblings harassing you for nine months straight! My birthday was in December, so I had to wait almost a year after Professor Odoaker revealed I was a wizard before I got to go here."

Ernst revealed that he could, in fact, smile – he even looked amused. "I feel your pain," he said mildly. "Actually, I take that back. My birthday was in June, so I didn't have to wait nearly as long, but that's beside the point…"

"So, what about the rest of your family? What does your father do?" Konrad inquired.

He took a sip of some carrot juice. "He works in a steel factory," Ernst said. That was a hard job that didn't pay well, and Dieter had the sense to not mention anything about it.

"And your mother?" Dieter asked.

Ernst's cheeks turned slightly red, and he didn't answer immediately. He ate some eggs and replied, "To be quite honest, I have no idea. My parents' got an annulment and divorce several years ago, and I've been living with my father ever since. I don't see my mother all that often."

"Oh. Errrm, that's…" Dieter didn't know what to say. _Unfortunate? Too bad?_ Divorces were uncommon and hard to obtain, and the fact that Ernst's parents had separated meant that they must have really hated each other.

"It's all right," Ernst declared firmly, reading Dieter's expression. "I've coped; don't worry about it."

The conversation ended awkwardly, and the three boys got back to eating their breakfast, which by talking they had somewhat neglected to do.

Their meal was interrupted again by the arrival of dozens, perhaps hundreds of owls. The birds soared into the Great Hall through the open clerestory windows and swooped down low over the tables, depositing letters and packages. One owl with ruffled feathers dropped a tightly rolled newspaper in front of Konrad, and presented its leg, to which a small pouch was attached. Konrad dug through his pockets and put a small bronze coin into the tiny purse, after which the owl promptly took off and exited the Hall.

Konrad unrolled the newspaper named _'Wahrheit'._ In large, bold letters, the main headline screamed, _"MUGGLE WORLD AT WAR! Brutal Fighting Between Germany and Poland!"_ Beneath that was a moving picture of a diving Stuka releasing a bomb. The picture switched to some explosions, then to some soldiers, and kept changing every few seconds.

Due to the excitement from finally arriving at Durmstrang, Dieter had completely forgotten about the war with Poland that had broken out just the previous day. He looked at the moving pictures, completely fascinated.

"Can I see that?" Dieter asked, and Konrad wordlessly gave him the paper, as he didn't have the time to read.

Dieter skimmed the main article, and immediately encountered problems. The journalist apparently had little idea as to what was really going on. According to Herr J. Federkiel (as that was the author's name), the war started for no better reason than mutual dislike and thirst for bloodshed. Federkiel had also seriously overestimated the strength of the Polish army by predicting a _"Massive and pointless war of attrition that will devastate the border for years to come."_

Though Dieter was not in the habit of reading newspapers very often, this was one of the most ridiculous things he had ever seen. The article was riddled with factual inaccuracies, and it spent paragraphs explaining the most obvious things, like what tanks and aeroplanes were.

But what Dieter found truly aggravating was the author's complete ignorance towards the cause of the war and his pessimism. How could any self-respecting Aryan, even a wizard with no knowledge of the Muggle world, doubt Germany's chances for victory? Dieter wondered how something so unpatriotic could have even been printed.

He gave the newspaper back to Konrad, who rolled it up and stuffed it into his book bag. Dieter checked his watch, and decided that they should leave now to get to their first class on time. Unfortunately, the Quidditch Pitch was situated a distance away from the castle, near the lake to the south. They would need to walk Cardiac Slope again, but at least it would be downhill.

After about a ten-minute walk, the three boys made it inside the pitch. It was an immense oval field about one hundred fifty metres long and fifty metres wide, and at either end were three golden hoops atop fifteen metre high posts. Several hundred elevated seats encircled the field, and spaced here and there were several towers that offered better views.

There were already some students assembled in the centre of the field, so Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst joined them.

The professor was a tall man with very short white-blond hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least four times. There was a faint scar going from the right edge of his mouth to the end of his jaw, which looked misaligned.

"Hello, everyone," he said gruffly, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. "We still have a few minutes, and then we'll begin. Hopefully everyone would have showed up by then."

Dieter noticed that a few students, Konrad included, were looking at the professor in what could only be described as awe. "Who is he?" Dieter asked.

"Him? That's _Anton Adlersflügel,"_ Konrad replied. "He captained the Dortmund Dragon-Lancers for two European Championships and led the Zaubererreich to victory in the 1934 Quidditch World Cup!" Quite unnecessarily, he added, "He's famous!"

"Uh-huh," Dieter said. "What happened to his face?"

"Too many Bludger hits," answered Konrad. Dieter wasn't familiar with the game and had no idea what a Bludger was, but it sounded like an object to beat people with.

A few minutes passed, and the rest of the students arrived. Dieter looked around and recognised some faces, such as Heinrich and Jean, and with a pang of annoyance, Gerta. With even more annoyance, he saw that Karkaroff was there too.

"Welcome to Flying and Quidditch Instruction," the professor announced in as loud a voice he could muster with his wobbly jaw. "I am Professor Adlersflügel, and I will be teaching you how to fly a broomstick today."

Some of the first-years looked rather bored, as they already knew how to ride a broomstick. Dieter on the other hand couldn't be more excited.

"Naturally, the first order of business is for everyone to get their brooms. You will be using the Volksbesen '34, and this will be the broom that you will use for your entire, seven-year stay at Durmstrang. Needless to say, you _will_ take very good care of your broom, because these are the property of Durmstrang Institute, and by extension, are the property of the Zaubererreich. You will be held accountable for any damages incurred, and repairs will be paid for out of your pockets. I will also personally ensure that anyone who wrecks their broom and requires a replacement must send a letter to Chancellor Grindelwald himself, apologising for the destruction of government property.

"Now, if you haven't noticed, there is quite a long walk from here to the castle and back. Therefore, to allow you to get to your classes on time, you are permitted to fly to those classes located outside the castle. But remember, flying broomsticks _inside_ the castle is expressly forbidden. Now, are there any questions before I start handing out brooms?"

A blond boy – Heinrich – raised his hand and asked, "Sir, what if we've already brought our own brooms? You see, I've brought my Zephyr Blitz."

Indeed he had. It was a highly polished broomstick of black wood and gold metal fittings, and it looked like it was zooming at a hundred kilometres an hour just sitting in his hand.

"A fine broom indeed," Professor Adlersflügel said gruffly. "May I see it?"

Face brimming with pride, Heinrich handed the former star Quidditch player his prized racing broom. Adlersflügel inspected the broom professionally and balanced it lightly on the tips of his fingers. Then, unexpectedly, he hurled it like a javelin down the Quidditch pitch. It travelled a good thirty metres before it impaled the soil.

Heinrich looked like he had been punched in the gut. His face turned completely white, and he stared at his broom sticking out of the ground in complete shock.

"Only school-issued brooms will be used in this class, and for flying from here to the castle and back. During school hours, you will _only_ use your Volksbesen '34. Fly your own broomsticks all you want after school hours, but the next broom I see in this class that isn't a VB will be snapped in half. Understood?"

Some students answered with fearful nods.

"Now, this may seem unfair to you, but trust me, it isn't. In Quidditch class, you will be tested on your flying ability. Everybody must use the same kind of broom for fairness sake, so that you are tested solely on skill alone, rather than your mount. Any more questions?"

There were none.

"Good. Everyone form a single-file line and follow me."

Professor Adlersflügel led the students to a small shed at one side of the field. "State your name, pick a broom from the shed, and tell me your broom's registration number."

Dieter made sure he was at the front of the line, so he got the first pick. The brooms inside the shed were all identical for the most part, but some looked a bit more worn than others. Dieter gave his name, selected the cleanest looking broom, and provided the number written on the shaft.

The broomstick's registration number was '1362'. It had very straight and rigid shaft, a tip shaped something like the bow of a ship, and on either side a logo depicting a 'B' nestled inside a larger, winged 'V'. The magic broomstick also had some features Dieter never thought he'd see on any normal broom. Attached to the shaft near the tail was a folding bipod that must have formed some kind of footrest when extended, and a sling more typically found on rifles. Though the Volksbesen '34 had a very utilitarian appearance, it was impressive to look at. Dieter felt a sudden rush of pride. This broomstick was HIS… _technically._

"Everybody have their brooms?" Adlersflügel asked some ten minutes later. "Good. Now, I'm going to give you your first assignment, to be completed tomorrow. I've always found that brooms respond better if you form a personal connection with it. Therefore, you must come up with a name for your broom, and one that you won't feel embarrassed about seven years from now. You will tell me your broom's name tomorrow, and this assignment is worth five easy points. Now, on to your first lesson. Please form one row, so you can all see me."

The thirty first-years on the field muddled about and arranged themselves as requested.

"Mounting a broom is simple – you just stick it in between your legs. I want everyone to do that now."

Professor Adlersflügel lectured on the correct way to sit on the broomstick, and told off the students who were seated too far up or down the shaft without raising his voice. "We're just going to try to get airborne now, so nothing fancy. Just go up and down. What I want everyone to do is to just jump in place on my command. Ready? One. Two. Three."

Everyone held their brooms in between their legs and jumped. Dieter hopped into the air and gravity promptly brought him back down.

Some other students managed to jump higher than what leg power alone could achieve, but nevertheless landed back on the ground. A few got airborne and hovered in place. To Dieter's incredible annoyance, one of those students was Karkaroff. He looked very smug, and was presumably enjoying how the 'Mudbloods' were still stuck on the ground. Dieter wanted very much to wipe that smirk off the Slav's face, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

No matter how hard or often Dieter jumped, he remained stubbornly attached to gravity's leash. "Don't think about falling, think about flying. Trust the broom to lift you off the ground," the professor said. Dieter followed the first half of those instructions, but couldn't honour the second. His mind simply refused to believe that a wooden stick with bristles on the end could support his weight and get him airborne. The broom had no wings. It had no engine or propeller. How on earth was it supposed to fly?

The funny thing was, Dieter had never been on an aeroplane before, yet that was the sole practical means of flight in his mind. But with effort, he closed his eyes and banished all thoughts of Messerschmitts and other aircraft out of his mind. As incredulous as the thought was, he focused on the broomstick supporting him in the air, and carrying himself through loops, barrel rolls, and Immelmann turns.

Suddenly, Dieter's feet left the earth. Taken by surprise by his sudden weightlessness, Dieter opened his eyes and discovered that the broom had lifted him off the ground. The grass was only some twenty centimetres below his feet, but he was indeed airborne. The realisation that he was hovering was so startling, it caused Dieter to stumble gracelessly back to the ground. The incident reminded Dieter of his first time balancing on a bicycle.

Most of the other students were already airborne and hovering in place less than a metre off the field. Dieter was surprised that Ernst had beaten him into the air, and he was determined to catch up. Within a minute, he managed to stay up in the air on his Volksbesen, but the broom was floating up and down steadily, and didn't seem to want to stay still.

"Focus, Heydrich," Professor Adlersflügel said. "Flying is mental as much as it is physical. Keep control of your broom."

For the next hour, the former Quidditch player drilled his students through several broom exercises. They hovered up and down, and moved back and forth. By the end of the class, Dieter had the confidence to fly up to twenty metres without having to fear falling off. He discovered that wrapping the sling over his shoulder and using the footrest greatly improved his balance and rooted him quite firmly to the broom.

It was exhilarating. He was flying!

The class ended, and Dieter very gingerly urged his broomstick towards the ground. He was disappointed that the lesson was over, as he was just starting to get the hang of flying a broom.

The greenhouses for Herbology class were near the west side of the lake. Partially submerged in the nearby shore was an ancient, burnt-out wreck of a ship. With only the thick internal framework remaining, it looked like a blackened whale skeleton. Suddenly remembering the boring Hauptpräfekt's speech the previous day, Dieter figured that the shipwreck must have been the remains of the first Seeschlange.

Herbology was taught by a plain looking Slavic woman named Professor Lobkovskaya. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and she had big hands encrusted with dirt. She launched into a very boring explanation of the uses of magical plants, and Dieter very patiently took down some notes. It was all rather pointless, though. _Magical plants were important_ – Dieter suspected as much.

He didn't enjoy Herbology class, for he found it to be incredibly useless. Dieter just didn't care about magical plants, though he found some of the colourful vines mildly interesting. Furthermore, he failed to see why a Slavic peasant should teach the subject to Aryans in the first place. Untermenschen were suitable for laborious, dirty jobs like tending plants, and there was no reason why that should be rubbed off on Germans.

With relief, Dieter left the Herbology greenhouses after an hour and a half of lecturing and plant potting. Their next class was Transfiguration, which was back in the castle.

"We'll never make it in time if we walk," Dieter said, consulting his watch.

"Then we fly," Konrad said simply.

Dieter and Ernst looked at him doubtfully. "I know it's just been your first day flying, but it's easy." Konrad assured. "It really is."

"Sure, it's easy for wizards, but I don't know about Mudbloods," said a voice Dieter instantly recognised as Karkaroff's. Dieter spun around to see the Slav following behind them.

Dieter didn't draw his wand – he only knew one spell anyway. He instead readied his fist for a good punch and growled, "Back off, unless you want your face smashed in." It wasn't a terribly well thought-out retort, but it was perfectly suitable against the Slav.

"How about we settle this in a _civil_ manner instead," Karkaroff proposed – it was the most oxymoronic thing an Untermensch could say. "A race to the castle, on broomsticks."

Dieter wasn't going to back down from a challenge, especially from someone of Karkaroff's kind. "You're on!" he declared without putting much thought into the matter. Though Dieter had only just learned how to fly a few hours earlier, he was confident he could defeat the Slav. How hard could it be?

"What are you doing, Dieter?" Ernst pleaded. "You won't stand a chance."

"Yeah, listen to your fellow Mudblood," Karkaroff said mockingly. "You should just forfeit right now."

Konrad stepped in. "Look, Karkaroff. Why don't you just bugger off and leave us alone? What have Dieter and Ernst done to you?"

Dieter and Karkaroff ignored him, determined that nothing would interfere with their impending race. They mounted their brooms.

"One, two, three, GO!" Karkaroff yelled, but Dieter could have sworn the Slav started on "three." They shot into the air and quickly left Konrad and Ernst behind, who were just getting on their brooms.

The wind roared in Dieter's ears and the ground blurred as it zoomed beneath him. He surged with adrenaline and urged his broomstick forward, up and over the trees.

He was flying level with Karkaroff, but the Slav gave him a malicious grin. He rocketed forward at impossible speed and left Dieter behind, struggling to catch up.

"Why you!" Dieter shouted in frustration. He couldn't let Karkaroff win – he wouldn't! He urged his Volksbesen to greater effort. He had to go faster! Oh, how he wished he could be flying a Bf 109 fighter instead. He could swoop down with machine guns barking, and tear the Slav into red ribbons and send him crashing into the ground!

As if responding to these very thoughts, Dieter's broom suddenly accelerated, and he almost lost his grip on the shaft in surprise. His eyes stung with the speed, but he could see that he was gaining on Karkaroff, who looked just as surprised as he was.

Then Dieter noticed that he was losing altitude. He was going to fly into the mountainside.

"UP!" he yelled, pulling on the handle. The Volksbesen reared like a wild horse and Dieter would have slid off the tail if his feet weren't pressed against the footrest. But the broom didn't slow down or stop, or even change direction. Like an automobile out of control on ice, the broomstick slid through the air, nose-up.

"TREE!" called an anguished voice from behind.

There was a crunch and a blow that felt like a punch to the chest. Dieter felt dizzy and was only vaguely aware of the sensation of weightlessness. He tumbled through some branches and hit something hard.

_Blackness._

* * *

Dieter opened his eyes. He felt weak and sore all over his body, and he had a huge headache. He groaned.

He heard footsteps, and somebody was standing to his side, talking to him. He couldn't see too well, since everything was blurry.

A small glass of a blue liquid was offered, and Dieter wordlessly took it and downed whatever it was in two gulps.

Like parting a fog bank, Dieter's senses returned to him. However, the headache didn't go away. "Ow," he muttered.

He was lying on a hospital bed with white sheets, and his left arm was in a sling. A middle-aged nurse with greying hair was standing nearby. "What happened?" he asked.

She prepared another potion and replied, "You flew into a tree and knocked yourself unconscious. I mended your arm, but you didn't break anything else. If all goes according to plan, you should be out of the Infirmary tonight. Now, drink this."

The nurse handed him a clear liquid, which Dieter swallowed. It had a very bitter taste, but it returned feeling to his limbs and lessened the soreness somewhat. "Thank you, Frau…"

"Fraüline Fertig," the nurse answered. "Now, stay in bed and try not to move too much. If you need anything, just call for me."

She left the Infirmary for her office, and the heels of her shoes clattered loudly on the stone floor. With nothing better to do, Dieter decided to get some sleep, but in this he failed. The thought of having lost a race to a Slav was not something Dieter could sleep on easily. With his mind free to concentrate on something other than the state of his battered body, that was all he could think about. He was stunned, and couldn't settle on a satisfactory explanation for Karkaroff's victory.

_I would have won though, if I hadn't collided into that tree,_ he consoled himself. _I was about to overtake him when I crashed…_

He knew he could beat Karkaroff if they were to race again. That he was sure of. However, he grudgingly admitted to himself that he would need a lot more practice with flying. His speed was good, but his broom control left something to be desired.

Konrad and Ernst came by to visit sometime later. "We just got out of class," Konrad said, so it had to be past sixteen o'clock. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Dieter lied. Though he felt much better physically, his mind was not at ease. "How were the classes I missed?"

"Satisfactory," Ernst replied. "Most of it was just introductory and only involved note taking. We covered quite a lot of theory in Transfiguration and Charms, and we won't be learning actual spells until next class, at least."

"But Defensive Magic was fun," Konrad added. "Professor Schmidt taught us how to defend ourselves against Erklings."

"Erklings?" Dieter asked. Konrad explained that they were dark creatures that lived in forests and attacked children. Since the forests around Durmstrang were known to have them, the professor decided to teach his students how to fight them before learning anything else. Ernst offered to loan Dieter the notes he had taken that day, so he wouldn't fall behind too much. Dieter wondered whether the gesture was out of friendship or Christian charity, but he was thankful nevertheless.

Then, in a thrill of dread, he remembered something and blurted, "But what about my broomstick?" Professor Adlersflügel had promised dire consequences for any damage inflicted on the school brooms, and crashing into a tree did not constitute safe, careful handling.

Konrad actually smiled. "Don't worry. Your broom came out better than you did – I suspect it has a very powerful unbreakable charm on it. They must have expected that these brooms will be abused."

That was small consolation, but it was one less thing to worry about. He asked what was foremost on his mind, "Where's Karkaroff?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Konrad answered. "What are you going to do? Find him and beat him up with one arm?"

"Something like that," confirmed Dieter bitterly.

Konrad frowned. "Dieter, _he won_. Just let it go, and don't think about racing again until you know how to fly."

Dieter merely grunted.

"And another thing, why do you hate him so much? I certainly don't like him myself, but you two seem to really have it out for each other."

"Does he call _you_ a Mudblood?" Ernst pointed out.

That didn't seem to entirely satisfy Konrad. He asked, "Why do you keep calling him 'Under-man'? What does that really mean?"

"It means what it sounds like," Dieter explained. "He's a sub-human."

"What? Like a half-goblin or something?" Konrad said incredulously.

Ernst provided in a very matter-of-fact tone, "No, more like a primitive human."

"Exactly," Dieter affirmed. "Humanity is divided into several different races, and some are more biologically and mentally advanced than others." He briefly went into an explanation of some of the different races and sub-species of the world.

"Wow. So… Karkaroff's not even fully human?" Konrad said once Dieter had finished. He nodded, and Konrad continued, "I don't know. That sounds pretty woolly to me."

"It isn't, really," Dieter said simply. "It's a scientifically proven fact. Entire books are written about it."

Frauline Fertig walked into the Infirmary. "That's enough, boys. Let him have his rest – you'll see him this evening anyway."

Konrad and Ernst placed Dieter's book bag within his reach, and left the Infirmary. Once they were gone, he decided to write some letters for his family. He used his big Transfiguration book as a hard surface, and wrote with a quill that still felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable in his hand. The feather quill made unpleasant scratching noises, and he didn't like having to constantly refill the ink tip. He much preferred his fountain pen, but it was locked away in his trunk.

About half an hour into writing his very long letter, he was interrupted by another visitor.

It was Gerta. She waved and walked over to his side.

"What do you want?" Dieter asked, and not all that gently.

In a bubbly voice, she said, "You should have helped me the rest of the way up Cardiac Slope yesterday. You could have been a _proper_ gentleman and not just half of one."

"Sorry, but you were being annoying, and running up the slope and wearing yourself out was a pretty stupid thing to do. Anything else?"

She smiled sweetly and wiggled her fingers. "I didn't get to exact my revenge by tickling you yesterday, and now you're stuck in this bed!"

Dieter's expression could only be described as one of horror. He tried fending her off with his good arm, but he was powerless to stop her. Dieter could have punched her, but he didn't dare strike back for real. It was never, ever appropriate to hit a lady, and his father had drilled that lesson into his head at a very young age. There was an embarrassing, absurd irony to the entire situation – since it was unethical to retaliate, he had more to fear from an Aryan girl than a Slavic savage!

"What on _earth_ are you doing, young lady?" the nurse demanded after investigating the cause of the commotion. "Master Heydrich needs his rest!"

* * *

He was released from the Infirmary in time to eat dinner in the Great Hall.

"Ah, so you're back." Konrad said. "How's your arm?"

It was still in the sling, and would be taken out the next day. It didn't hurt, but it did feel a little numb. "It's fine, but I feel a little tired," he said. He didn't say anything about Gerta's tickle torture.

For the rest of the meal, the three boys talked about their first assignments, specifically Professor Adlersflügel's. Coming up with a name for a broom sounded like a very simple task, but Dieter and the others quickly discovered that it was surprisingly difficult. They swapped ideas, but nobody could come up with any names they liked.

"What a stupid assignment," Konrad admitted after half an hour. "Brooms aren't horses."

"Or ships," Dieter added. On that thought, perhaps he could look up warship names for inspiration.

After eating, Dieter asked Konrad if he could borrow his owl to send a letter. "Sure," he replied.

Konrad and Ernst went back to the dormitory, and Dieter went to the aviary by himself. He consulted the map on the backside of his class schedule and discovered that his destination was close by.

The aviary was a round room at the top of a narrow tower. There were several open windows through which owls flew in and out, and the floor was coated in straw, dried up droppings, and rodent skeletons.

He spotted what looked like Konrad's owl, Timm. Just like his first encounter with the bird, it tried to bite Dieter's fingers off. He could do nothing to persuade the bird to deliver his letter, so he picked a school owl instead. A small white one was willing to do the job, but it tapped its beak against a small wooden box on the wall that said, _'Fare: ¼ Badger'._

Dieter grumbled and put a one Badger coin through the slot. Three tiny bronze coins came out as change.

He was not in good spirits when he arrived back at the dormitory. First he lost a race to the Slav, then he was tickled by a girl, and now even the owls seemed to be against him…

Konrad and Ernst were already in Room 6J and sitting on their beds, but so was Karkaroff. They were reading or doing assignments in silence, but that silence spoke volumes about the tension present.

"Well, if it isn't the other Mudblood," Karkaroff said, amused. "How does the arm feel? That looked quite painful."

Dieter didn't bother replying with words. He simply walked up to the boy, drew back his good right fist, and punched the Slav as hard as he could in the face.

Karkaroff fell backwards onto his bed, clutching his jaw and moaning loudly in pain. Dieter didn't have the energy to hit him again. He just climbed up to his top bunk and worked on his assignments, completely ignoring sound of the Slav's complaining. He barely registered Konrad and Ernst's startled expressions.

The lights went out at twenty-two o'clock. Dieter didn't immediately go to sleep, as he was immersed in his thoughts. He felt like he had a mission to fulfill. He knew that somehow, he needed to make the Untermenschen to leave Durmstrang Institute.

And Karkaroff would be the first to go.


	11. Angriff ist Verteidigung

I'll be back in school soon, so I won't have as much time to write fanfiction. Unfortunately, gaps of weeks to months between updates are likely from hence forth, but I just want to assure you that I have no intentions of ending this story prematurely. I will try to write when I have the time.

Subsequent chapters will be faster paced than this one, now that Dieter's been more or less introduced to the school already.

Thanks for reading,

~ _Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter XI: Angriff ist Verteidigung**

Punching Karkaroff in the face had done much to improve his personality. The following morning, the Slav said no snide remarks, and he didn't even sneer at the two Muggle-borns in Room 6J. In fact, he did his best to pretend that the other boys did not exist and avoided them as best he could. Dieter suspected that Karkaroff never believed a 'Mudblood' would fight back, and was still in a state of shock after Dieter's painful refutation of that particular theory.

That day and thereafter, Karkaroff rarely left the company of the heavily built, linguistically deficient Slav that Dieter and Konrad had first met on the ship. This was good news and bad news, as it indicated that Karkaroff had a crisis of confidence and needed protection, but this also meant he actually had a friend.

The owls delivered the newspapers and letters to the students in the Great Hall again that morning. Dieter waited expectantly for a bird to bring a letter from home, but when none did, he figured that his family hadn't had the time to write replies.

Konrad received his newspaper, which bore more news of the war between Poland and Germany. There was another, smaller headline in bold letters, which said, _"Seven Goblins Captured – Progress Being Made."_

"Can I read that after you?" Dieter asked.

"You can read it right now," Konrad replied, handing over the copy of _Wahrheit_. "I need to eat."

Dieter took the newspaper. He predicted that great German victories would be announced in the update about the Muggle war, so he decided to read about the goblins, of which he knew little.

_The ZVK struck a blow against the fugitives from justice yesterday, 3 September 1939. The evening raid resulted in the capture of seven non-wizards and eight additional goblin bandit casualties. No wizards or witches were harmed in the encounter._

_"We are doing all we can to ensure the safety of the witches and wizards of the Zaubererreich," commented Sturmtruppenführer Hedwig Fleischer, who led the daring sortie. "We will find all of [the goblins] and bring them to justice."_

_This successful raid is another step towards the removal of the goblin threat, and the restoration of peace in the Zaubererreich. According to ZVK strategists, the non-wizard insurrection is expected to wind down within the next month as the size and scope of our forces' efforts increase._

_"However, that is no reason for people to not be vigilant," said Oberkommandant Joachim Braun. "Goblins are ruthless creatures and must not be underestimated. We ask that people be watchful and exercise caution for the duration of this conflict."_

_Any sightings of goblins are to be reported immediately to the proper authorities._

The article said next to nothing about the origins of the goblin insurrection, as it assumed the average reader already knew. He remembered while waiting for the ship on his first day at Durmstrang (_Was that only two days ago?_ Dieter thought), a government official had mentioned trouble with goblins, thus explaining the hidden guards in the forest. He was curious to know more, and asked Konrad to fill him in on the details.

"It's complicated," he said through a mouthful of porridge. "I don't know all the facts myself. But it all happened over the summer, so I guess you wouldn't have heard about it."

"I know. That's why I'm asking," Dieter stated, pointing out the obvious.

Konrad rolled his eyes and explained, "Goblins have always caused problems for wizardkind. I don't understand them that much, but I know they are cunning, greedy, vicious little buggers with affinities for shiny things."

_They sound exactly like Jews_, Dieter thought. The goblin he had seen at the wizard bank the previous year even _looked_ like a Jew. Could they be related?

"Chancellor Grindelwald has tried very hard to make goblins useful, productive members of wizarding society, but the reform programme didn't work out too well," Konrad continued. Dieter was fascinated, but Ernst listened with a very neutral expression on his face.

"We ended up nationalising the Große Greif-Bank when the programme failed, but the goblins decided to fight us. They lit the bank on fire and killed a few people, and we've been busy putting down the uprising in the month or so since. But we've made pretty good progress; it's mostly just mopping up now."

Dieter asked, "But why has it taken you this long to sort out your goblin problem?'

"What do you mean? It's only been since early August when this whole thing started–"

"No, what I mean is, why did you wizards bother trying to integrate them? If you knew goblins were a problem from the beginning, then why didn't you just keep them away from wizards at the start?" Then, with a certain amount of pride, "That's what _we_ Muggles did with our Jews. The Führer didn't waste time sorting things out with them after he was elected."

Konrad merely shrugged. "Don't ask me – I'm not a politician, or Gellert Grindelwald for that matter." He took a sip of carrot juice. "And who is this Führer you keep talking about, and what are 'Joos'?"

Dieter checked his watch. There wasn't much time left for breakfast, and he needed to eat. "I'll explain later," he said.

Like the previous day, their first class was Flying and Quidditch Instruction. At the beginning of the lesson, Professor Adlersflügel had everyone form a line abreast and provide the names of their brooms when he passed. Quite a few girls blushed and answered as quietly as possible when it was their turn.

The flying instructor stood in front of Dieter. "What have you decided to call this broomstick?" he inquired.

"Panzer, sir." Dieter replied, earning five easy points. It was a fitting name for the Volksbesen, considering its seemingly indestructible qualities, and Dieter felt quite clever for coming up with it. He would have felt even cleverer if it hadn't taken him so long to do so, however.

Professor Adlersflügel wrote down the broomstick name on his clipboard and moved on to the next student. Overhearing nearby discussions, Dieter heard that Konrad had very imaginatively named his broom 'Stick'. Others (mostly girls) had chosen actual personal names like 'Johann' and 'Frida', rather than ones that were conceptual in nature.

Afterwards and for the rest of the class, Adlersflügel led his students through more broom exercises more vigorous than the previous day's. Having his left arm in a sling and not being a natural-born flier, Dieter's performance was not exactly stellar. However, he was more confident on a broomstick now. He could climb, dive, accelerate, and brake, but manoeuvres more complicated than that were troublesome with only one hand to grip the broom at the moment.

Karkaroff regained his arrogance while in the air, knowing full well that Dieter couldn't retaliate while airborne – _yet_. He and the other Slav who couldn't speak German properly zoomed past him on occasion, jeering. Dieter shrugged off the Slavs' insults and concentrated on improving his flying, determined to come out on top in his next aerial encounter.

Flying Instruction ended, and the three boys flew very carefully back to the castle for Potions in room 67.

"Welcome to Potions, students," announced the professor with great enthusiasm. She was a young, shapely woman with wavy blonde hair tied in a loose bun. Dieter had to privately admit that she was quite pretty. She continued, "I am Flora Kirsch, and I'll be teaching you how to brew many fun and useful things. I'm sure you'll love this class, and I and look forward to getting to know you all very well."

She spoke with a very bubbly tone, and she reminded Dieter of an older version of Gerta.

"Does anybody here have any experience with cooking?" the professor asked.

Several people, mostly girls, raised their hands. Dieter wondered what qualified as cooking, since he had prepared food over open flames while on Deutches Jungvolk campouts, but (if he remembered correctly) had never cooked anything in the kitchen at home.

Professor Kirsch clapped her hands together. "Oh good! Brewing potions is a lot like cooking. You have your ingredients and a pot, so just follow the directions and _voilà!_ You have a completed potion. This is very easy and fun, and as long as you follow instructions, there is no reason why you shouldn't be able to brew anything. Are there any questions before we begin today's lesson…? Good."

She wrote on a chalkboard a list of ingredients. "We will learn by doing in this class, so you don't have to worry too much about taking lots of boring notes. However, I do want you to write this down. These are the ingredients for a Thickening Solution, and how the properties of each ingredient create the end product…"

Dieter scribbled down the provided material in his notes. The Thickening Solution was a simple potion that increased the density of whatever liquid, solid, or gas it came in contact with. Professor Kirsch spent only about ten minutes lecturing before having the students gather supplies from the cabinets and begin brewing their potions. It was then that Dieter ran into trouble.

None of the measurements in the instructions used any metric units. Instead, the amounts were listed in unfamiliar units like ounces, pounds, and even a _pinch_.

Nevertheless, Dieter thought he could figure it out, so he got to work. The instructions said to fill his school-issued cauldron with one gallon of water. However, the measuring beaker used 'pints' rather than 'gallons', so Dieter filled his cauldron with ten pints from the tap.

Once all the students had filled their cauldrons, Professor Kirsch went around the room, lighting magical fires underneath everyone's vessels, as they had not yet learned how to do so themselves.

While his water heated, Dieter crushed a quarter-pound of dried beetles into a powder with a mortar and pestle. The task was totally absurd – he wondered about what possible use dead, ground-up insects could have in a potion, and why some of the ingredients were measured by mass and others by volume.

He dumped two and a half ounces of crushed beetles into the potion, followed by a cup of Flobberworm mucus, which was really quite disgusting. He stirred for twenty minutes (a very dull activity), and had to add one final ingredient before letting it simmer.

The final ingredient was a pinch of powdered antler, but Dieter had no idea how much a 'pinch' was supposed to be. He asked Konrad, who was sitting nearby to clarify what that measurement was, and he answered by simply rubbing the tips of his index finger and thumb together.

An incredibly precise measurement, a 'pinch' was…

According to the instructions on the board, the potion was supposed to be a dark grey colour, and emitting steam of a similar shade. Unfortunately, Dieter's potion had turned light _purple_, and he had no idea how that had happened. At the other end of the room, Karkaroff and the other Slav who couldn't speak German well were trying hard not to laugh at Dieter's attempt. He glared at the Slavs, but that was all he could do to retaliate, short of walking over and dumping the contents of his cauldron on their heads.

Professor Kirsch walked by Dieter's cauldron. "Are you sure you've followed the directions carefully, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Yes," Dieter answered exasperatedly. He would have felt more frustrated if he was the only person struggling, but thankfully, that wasn't the case. "I followed the instructions to the letter."

"Hmm… how much water did you put in your cauldron?"

Dieter answered, "One gallon, as instructed."

"Are you sure, dear? It looks like you have bit too much. How many pints did you use?"

"Ten."

Professor Kirsch frowned and explained, "You were supposed to use eight. There are eight pints in a gallon, not ten."

Dieter was confused "Why is that?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He clarified, "Why are there eight pints to a gallon? Shouldn't it be ten?"

The woman simply looked at Dieter blankly for a few moments. "That's just the way it is," she finally said. She asked Dieter to list exactly how much of each ingredient he used. He felt both disappointed and very annoyed when the professor revealed that he had gotten almost all the quantities wrong.

"This makes no sense," Dieter grumbled.

"Why is that?" Kirsch asked.

"What kind of measuring system has _sixteen_ ounces in a pound?" he said with frustration. "Why _eight_ pints in a gallon? It makes no sense! Why not a simple number like _ten_, or better yet, why don't we use the metric system?"

Again, the professor had that vacant look on her face. "What's the metric system?" she asked after a pause. Dieter didn't bother explaining to the woman, who continued, "Well dear, I'll give you seven points out of ten for effort. I think you'll be able to brew potions correctly once you figure out the correct proportions, and by then I'm sure you'll enjoy this class."

She walked away to check up on other students, and at ten twenty, the class was finally dismissed. Dieter was quick to complain about the class once they were out.

"What's the point of Potions? It's just like cooking! This is _girls'_ work!" he said.

Ernst said reasonably, "Don't dislike the subject just because you were having difficulty, Dieter. Potions is a very useful subject, and you should know how to use the whether you like it or not. I suspect many careers would require it."

Dieter grunted. Ernst was probably right, but he didn't want to openly agree with him. He was still annoyed at having been buggered by the unfamiliar wizarding (_And British_, he reminded himself) system of weights and measures. The fact that Karkaroff had, as far as he could tell, made a better potion did not improve his mood either.

The next class was History of Magic, taught by Professor Simonov. Dieter's expectations for the class were already low, on the account that the instructor was a Slav.

As it turned out, he liked History of Magic less than Potions, or Herbology.

They arrived outside classroom 23 on the third floor a few minutes early. In the corridor, beside the closed door, hung a large painting depicting a forest clearing with a number of Roman soldiers on the left side.

And to Dieter's surprise, the Romans were moving. He had no idea magic paintings moved too, but then he thought he should have expected it considering that he already was aware of dynamic wizarding photographs.

The Roman soldiers were standing around, talking to one another. One soldier with a red plume on his helmet (a centurion?) looked over at the right side of the painting and complained, "Ah, _gluteus maximus_… Here they come again."

Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst watched in fascination as another group entered the painting from the right. Shouts and war cries emanated out of the canvas as a mob of big men in furs charged the Romans. One of the barbarians wore a deer skull on his head and waved a flaming branch around which fired green thunderbolts.

The Roman soldiers did not offer any resistance. In fact, they looked rather resigned and even _bored_ as they were all hacked to pieces by axes and swords, or were lit on fire by the wizard. The fur-wearing men danced and shouted in triumph, then exited the painting from the direction they came.

And if the scene couldn't get any stranger, the dead Romans simply got back up as if nothing had happened. They put their limbs back on and resumed their conversations with each other.

"That's mad," Konrad said, mouth agape.

The door to the classroom swung open, and Professor Simonov appeared. He was a tall, thin old man with hollow cheeks, short and spiky white hair, big eyebrows, full moustache, and small beard. He had an angry expression that looked permanently etched onto his face.

"Well, what are you waiting out here for?" he growled with a Russian accent. "Get your arses inside and find yourselves a seat, damn it!"

Dieter and all the other students waiting outside in the corridor rushed inside. Going by first impressions, everyone was keen to pick a seat in the back, as far away from the Professor as possible. Dieter, Konrad, and Ernst were separated in the rush, but they did manage to stay ahead of the other students and obtained seats mostly to the rear of the classroom.

Heinrich entered and the Slav Professor promptly said, "You're late, boy. Five points off your first assignment."

Once the blond boy who liked to talk about his precious _Zephyr Blitz_ broomstick was seated at the front, the professor signed the top of the chalkboard in an unintelligible scrawl. "I am Sergey Konstantinovich Simonov, and I teach History of Magic. If you didn't have the intellectual capacity of a baboon's arse, you would have figured that out on your own."

He wrote something else on the board, and Dieter struggled to decipher it. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was a subject heading and a timeframe, so he copied that into his notes.

"Our aims for this year are to learn about the history of magic, if it wasn't already obvious. If it wasn't, then you have no business in this school. Now, I have the unutterable joy of teaching you brats this year, so I warn you now to not test me. Understand?"

The students nodded fervently.

"Understand?" Professor Simonov stressed, more forcefully.

"Yes, sir, Professor Simonov," the class chorused.

The Slav grumbled something to himself in Russian. Then, in German: "In this class, you will learn about history. History is about FACT. There will be no debates and no discussions in this class. You will write down what I tell you, and answer with what I told you. I will lecture you for an hour and a half each session, so you better take good notes if you know what's good for you. Understand?"

The students once again recited, "Yes, Professor Simonov." Dieter dreaded the rest of the class.

Simonov took the roll call, and asked each student to provide his or her blood status.

"…Dieter Heydrich?"

"Present. Muggle-born," he provided. The professor moved down the list, and Dieter looked around the classroom as each name was called. This way, he discovered that the brick-like (in both physique and intellect) Slav who accompanied Karkaroff was named Aleksandr Todorov. Furthermore, the pretentious Heinrich's surname was Fuerst, and Gerta's was Roth. Those three students were all Pure-bloods, as were Konrad, Karkaroff, and a few others. There also were many Half-bloods, and several Muggle-borns.

Once finished with roll call, Professor Simonov said, "Right. Now that that's out of the way, I know what kind of students I am dealing with. But don't you worry – I don't discriminate. You are all equally worthless. On to the lesson! Everyone, get your damn books out. Read pages four through six. You have two minutes to read, starting _now."_

There was a flurry of motion as all the students took out their copies of _Das Erste Zaubererreich - A History of Magic Before 1689_ from their bags and started reading as quickly as they could. The writing was small, but fortunately there was a large map of Germany (but with borders unfamiliar to Dieter) on page five, so the reading assignment was not solid text.

The passage was merely an introduction to the topic of magical history, and there was little substantial information of note.

"Time's up," the Slav Professor said. "Put your books away. Let's test your reading comprehension, shall we? Hmm… who should my first victim be…? _Fuerst!_ Tell me, who is the author of your textbook?"

Heinrich tried glancing into his book bag at the book's cover, and without much success. "No peeking!" Simonov growled.

"Errr…"

"Another five points from your first assignment. Now… Busch! Can _you_ tell me who the author is?"

"Walter Ehrlichmann, sir," Ernst answered nervously.

"Good. _Kozlowski!_ What does Ehrlichmann say is the most important part of our magical heritage?"

And so it went. Professor Simonov spent the next few minutes terrorising the students, barking stupid questions. Dieter considered himself fortunate that he wasn't called upon. Konrad hadn't been so lucky, and lost five points from his first assignment like many others.

Once done with questions, the Professor lectured the class on the evolution of magic, namely that of wands, in ancient Europe. A magic piece of chalk wrote down what he was saying on the board, but there was no improvement on the legibility of the handwriting. The Slav Professor must have enchanted the chalk himself.

Dieter had to privately admit that the lesson was actually quite interesting. He knew nothing about the evolution of wandmaking, from the use of unaltered tree branches to prepared wands, and the stages in between. It was simply fascinating, but the mood was completely spoiled by the old Slav standing behind the teacher's desk. He treated everyone in the class (Aryans and Untermenschen alike) slightly better than he would maggots. In between lecturing, he would call on a random person and demand an accurate explanation of things he had covered. Dieter was very glad he took detailed notes, as he was able to answer a question to the Professor's satisfaction.

Karkaroff raised his hand. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked.

"What?" Simonov growled dangerously. Though Dieter already hated the Professor with a loathing, he would have dearly liked to see the Slavic teacher verbally dismember Karkaroff.

"I can't read what you wrote on the chalkboard, sir," Karkaroff said.

Professor Simonov gave the (other) Slav a deadly stare. "That was a _statement_, not a question. Stupid statements are not permitted in this class. Five points off your first assignment."

For just a fleeting moment, Dieter regarded Professor Simonov favourably for putting down Karkaroff. But it was only for a fleeting moment. Simonov was still a complete and utter bastard, and seemed to enjoy bullying students. He was a prime example of Slavic barbarity.

He assigned a five hundred word summary of the first chapter, worth ten points and due the next class session. At noon, after an hour and a half of virtual torture, the students were released. Everyone, even Dieter, who considered himself adept at handling privations, felt massively relieved and rushed out of History of Magic ("Don't run in the classroom, damn it!"). It was liberating. It felt like a reprieve of a death sentence.

Dieter was summoned to the Infirmary to get the sling off his left arm, so he bade Konrad and Ernst goodbye and headed off on his own.

It was over very quick. Fraüline Fertig did some spell, gave Dieter a final potion to drink, took off the sling, and sent Dieter on his way again. He was amazed at the power of magical medicine. If he had broken his arm back home, he would have been incapacitated for quite some time.

He ran into Karkaroff and the other Slav (_Todorov_ – was that his name?) on his way to lunch in the Great Hall.

"What do you want?" Dieter said.

"You're going to wish you never punched me, Mudblood," Karkaroff declared. He sounded confident, but that was only because he wasn't facing Dieter alone.

"You're going to wish you were never born a Slav, Untermensch," Dieter replied, stepping around the two. As satisfying as it would be to beat them to a pulp (which he was sure he could do), they weren't worth the effort. Dieter would rather eat lunch than fight with rats.

"Hey, don't just walk away from us, Mudblood!" Karkaroff called after him.

Dieter found Konrad and Ernst at one of the tables and joined them. Ernst was quite eagerly eating something crescent shaped and yellow – a banana.

He had a rare, wide smile on his face. "This is brilliant!" he said in-between bites. "I've never had a banana before!"

"You can't be serious. You've never eaten a banana even once before?" Konrad asked incredulously.

Ernst shook his head. "No. They're pretty expensive." He finished one banana and promptly started on another one. Dieter himself had only had bananas three or four times before, but being already acquainted with the taste, he didn't enjoy the tropical fruit as much as Ernst did.

Dieter said nothing to Konrad on the subject of Jews during lunch, as he had completely forgotten about their unfinished conversation that morning.

After eating a balanced lunch (which in Ernst's case meant balanced in terms of the variety of banana shapes, from relatively straight to dramatically curved), they went to their last class of the day, not counting Astronomy, which would be a night.

Defensive Magic was the class Dieter was most looking forward to, and he was not disappointed.

"Good afternoon, class," greeted Professor Bruno Schmidt. He was of average height, but very broad shouldered and muscular. He had brown hair, and his head was very rectilinear, as if it was made completely of forty-five degree and right angles. He looked friendly, though. However, considering the recent encounter with Professor Simonov, Dieter's standard for what was 'friendly' had dropped considerably.

"Good afternoon, Professor Schmidt," the students replied out of formality rather than fear of dire consequences.

"Now that we've covered the obligatory basics of Erkling defence, we'll move on to the actual first-year curriculum. Dieter, how is your arm feeling?"

He never would have expected a professor to call on him by his first name, much less know about his accident the previous day. "Feel's fine," he said.

"Excellent! Would you be interested in popping by here after sixteen ten, to cover the lesson you missed yesterday?"

Dieter nodded.

Professor Schmidt moved on to the lesson. "As you know, this class is called 'Defensive Magic'. However, this title is a misnomer. Can anyone tell me why?"

Students looked around at each other, and nobody raised their hands. Dieter decided to give it a shot.

"Yes, Dieter?"

"It's a misnomer because… it is best to defend by attacking?"

Professor Schmidt nodded, impressed. "Good to see you've done your reading; that is correct. I must stress this now, and I will stress it all year. Attack is the _only_ defence. To be put on the defensive, you have already yielded the initiative to the aggressor. If you are on the defence, you are merely a puppet, because the enemy pulls the strings. You must respond to _his_ moves. He calls the shots.

"Therefore, the aim of this class is not to just teach you how to survive an encounter with an assailant. It is to teach you how to counter the attacker's moves, switch to the offensive as soon as possible, and _defeat_ the enemy. Everyone please write this down."

He wrote some very sparse notes on the chalkboard:

_'Attack is Defence'_

Dieter appreciated how Defensive Magic class would not involve much writing.

"This is how your education will be divided while you're at Durmstrang. For your first and second year, you will learn the basics of practical magic defence, or offence, I should say. This is how to use combat spells, hit your target, tactics, and so forth."

He added some notes on the board.

"Your third and fourth years will concentrate on threat recognition and neutralisation. In other words, this means how to identify an enemy, know how to defeat him, and attack him before he attacks you. Finally, in your last three years, we will cover the advanced spells and techniques of wand combat."

He finished writing the short outline and asked for questions. "Yes, Frigg?"

A girl with a long blonde hair asked, "When you say, 'attack your enemy before he attacks you,' isn't that…?"

Professor Schmidt suggested, "Aggressive?" The girl nodded, and the professor continued, "You are entirely right. However, it's always better to stun first, and ask questions later. Always be on your guard and ready to strike. We'll go over this in detail after we cover the basics, which is what we'll start today."

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them together. "So, on to business! I'm going to teach you a simple spell, which you will use for the majority of the year in your practice sessions. It is the Stinging Hex, with the incantation, _Mordax_, from the Latin."

He wrote _'Mordax'_ on the board. Pointing to the underlined portion, he said, "Note the stress on the first syllable. Now, what this incantation does is shoot a red bolt that sharply stings whatever it comes in contact with. It is not lethal, of course, but feels something like a powerful bee sting. So, avoid getting hit in the face if you can avoid it, because that hurts. Now, without wands please, just repeat after me. _Mordax."_

_"Mordax,"_ the class repeated.

"Good. Now, can anyone tell me why _Mordax_ is a better spell than something like, say, _Expelliarmus?_ How about you, Konrad?"

Konrad hadn't expected to be called upon, but he answered, "Er… it's, erm… easier to say?"

"Precisely! The number of syllables does matter in a duel. The fewer the syllables, the less time it takes to say it, thus the more often you can cast it. Furthermore, it is less likely that you will mispronounce anything. Though _Expelliarmus_ is a very useful spell, you are much more likely to slur your syllables together.

"Casting a Stinging Hex is quite simple. The only wand movement required is a sharp, downwards flick. Jabbing your hand forwards at the same time adds more force to the spell, but this extra movement makes it harder to maintain a rapid barrage of hexes. It's up to you really. Now, does anybody still need to copy down what's on the board?"

Nobody answered, so Professor Schmidt cleared the notes about the Stinging Hex with his wand. Following that, he drew eight circles on the board, each about thirty centimetres in diameter and uniformly spaced between each other.

"Everyone, put everything away, please. All you need now is your wands."

The class complied eagerly. Dieter was quite excited.

Once the students had packed away their book bags and notes, the professor sent all the desks flying to one side of the classroom, clearing all obstructions between the students and the chalkboard. "Please form up against the back wall. Your targets are those one-foot circles on the board. Begin whenever you feel like you are ready."

Professor Schmidt hurried out of the way, as some thirty wands were drawn and aimed towards the front of the room.

Dieter thought he was the first to cast the spell, but he wasn't sure. Voices chorused, _"Mordax!"_ and an erratic volley of red bolts shot towards the chalkboard. The spells sparked on contact, leaving small scorch marks.

It was nothing like shooting an air rifle, for the wand had no sights, and his hand blocked his sight picture. Neither was it anything like throwing darts or snowballs, since he only needed a jab and flick, and the spell travelled in a straight line without being affected by gravity. Dieter would need to develop an entirely new instinct and technique in order to hit anything with his wand.

His first spell hit the chalkboard, but it struck low and nowhere near any of the targets. He was undeterred, however – some other students hadn't managed to produce the Stinging Hex on their first attempt.

Dieter shouted _"Mordax!"_ again and again, hurling the red jets of light at the chalkboard. It was quite possibly the most fun he had ever had, perhaps more so than riding a broom. There was nothing more thrilling than pelting an inoffensive, inanimate object with exploding red tracers!

"How about a race?" Dieter called to Konrad and Ernst. "First person to hit a circle five times wins."

Konrad nodded vigorously. "You're on!"

The three boys proceeded to throw spells at the targets. Konrad was flicking his wand as quickly as possible, spraying a barrage of spells in the hopes of hitting something. In complete contrast, Ernst was taking his time. He held his arm out straight and took careful aim for each spell. However, the fact that his hand was blocking the view of his own wand was a hindrance. Dieter's style was something of a compromise, in which he tried to be as accurate as possible but without spending a long time aiming – he figured that since it was almost possible to both flick a wand and accurately point it at the same time, he should just fire spells, see where they land, and adjust his aim from there.

In the end, nobody could claim victory. With perhaps two dozen other people throwing spells simultaneously, it was hard to tell whose Stinging Hex was whose. It was all great fun, nonetheless.

"All right, that's enough for now," Professor Schmidt called out, and it took a moment for all the shouts of _"Mordax!"_ to die down. "Can you all hear me? Good. Now, who's satisfied with their aim?"

Nobody answered 'yes'. Though Dieter had hit a circle once or twice, which was better than many of the other students, he knew he could do better.

"As much as I expected," Schmidt said. "But not to worry. Now that you know the spell, I'm going to teach you technique. Pay close attention…"

For the rest of the class, Professor Schmidt demonstrated various wand motions and duelling positions: high guard, low guard, wand arm out, wand arm in, overhead slash, low strike. The different wand positions reminded Dieter more of fencing than anything else.

"Remember, use whatever technique is best suited for you. I don't care if you launch spells behind your back, but you better be able to hit something if you do."

The only homework Schmidt assigned was to practice the Stinging Hex and their aim. The bell rang and the students left, babbling excitedly about the lesson.

"You know I won that competition," Konrad said. "I hit five of the targets before any of you did."

"What are you talking about? You can't even hit an elephant on the other side of the room!" Dieter refuted.

They walked back to their dormitory to drop off their books and enjoy the afternoon and evening in whatever way they saw fit before their astronomy class in the dead of night. Dieter suggested that they go outside and practice Stinging Hexes, whereas Ernst was adamant about starting on his reading.

"Well, you can just bring your books with you and read while we blast away," suggested Konrad.

Ernst's expression said he'd rather read somewhere with some peace and quiet, but he relented. "Oh, all right."

Once at the first-years' tower, Dieter and Konrad relieved themselves of their book bags. However, in a feat of some very good timing, the door opened and an older student with black collar tabs and a badge on his uniform entered.

"Is one of you here Dieter Heydrich?" the präfekt asked.

"That's me," Dieter said.

The präfekt handed him a small piece of paper. "The Deputy Rector wants to see you in his office. Fourth floor, north side."

"What for?" Dieter demanded, but the older student didn't reply and merely exited the room.

Konrad looked at Dieter, confused. "Does this mean you're in trouble already? What did you–? _…Oh."_

"Probably," Dieter muttered. "Well, wish me luck."

Konrad gave him a sympathetic look, but Ernst's expression said, _'Well? What did you expect?'_

Dieter hadn't been on the castle's fourth floor on the north side yet, but he found Professor Odoaker's office without getting lost. He knocked three times on the door that bore a plaque: _'Theoderich Odoaker – Deputy Rector'._

"Come in," Odoaker's voice invited from inside.

Dieter opened the door and entered the Deputy Rector's office. The walls were lined with bookshelves and drawers crammed with overflowing files. Odoaker was seated behind his desk, and in front of it were two chairs; one of which occupied by someone who Dieter was not at all unsurprised to see.

"Please, take a seat Master Heydrich," Professor Odoaker said. Dieter sat down in the chair next to Karkaroff and did his best to ignore him.

"How are your classes so far?" Odoaker asked conversationally. Dieter replied that they were well.

"That's good to hear. Now, I am sure you know why you are here, and it is not pleasant business. Your roommate, Igor Karkaroff, has informed me that you punched him in the face last night without provocation. Is this true?"

Dieter shook his head and said, "That's only partially true, sir. I did punch him, sir, but it was not unprovoked. He was calling me 'Mudblood' all day and when he said it last night, I punched him."

"He's lying, professor," Karkaroff argued. "I don't know why, but he just hates me for no reason! And last night, this Mudbl–Muggle-born just p-punched…"

The Slav stopped speaking and tried to keep a straight, realising he had just made a complete fool of himself.

"I see," Professor Odoaker said levelly. "Well, I just have to say that I am disappointed in both of you. Master Karkaroff, you espouse these hateful prejudices that have plagued wizardkind for centuries – prejudices Grindelwald has sworn to eradicate at all costs. And you, Master Heydrich, you let your temper get the better of you, and you sought your revenge by resorting to crude Muggle brawling. Therefore, you will both have detention this Saturday."

_Both?_ Dieter thought. That was entirely unfair! Why did _he_ have to get punished for teaching the Slav a lesson?

"I don't want to hear any arguments," Professor Odoaker said, holding up his hand and cutting off the two boys' protests. "I don't like punishing students, but I do what I must. You will serve detention on Saturday at eighteen o'clock, and it will last for as long as it takes you to complete your tasks."

Dieter and Karkaroff gave up trying to dispute the Deputy Rector's decision. Instead, they glared daggers at each other.

"You don't have to like each other, but you _will_ tolerate each other," Professor Odoaker stated. "The Zaubererreich is on a mission to change the world, and that starts with wizards and witches putting their petty feuds aside and _cooperating_ for the greater good. I want you to remember that."

The two boys nodded, but without any sincerity. "You may go," Professor Odoaker said.

Karkaroff got up from his chair and left, but Dieter stayed and asked, "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"If it's a short one."

"Why are Untermenschen admitted and allowed to learn and teach at Durmstrang?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Dieter repeated his question and clarified, "Why are sub-humans like Karkaroff allowed to come here?"

In a softer tone than before, Professor Odoaker answered empathetically, "Master Heydrich, I'm sure you greatly dislike him for calling you what he did. 'Mudblood' is a vile word to call someone like you, but that gives you no reason to call Master Karkaroff a 'sub-human'."

"But he _is,"_ Dieter stated, as it was a simple fact.

"But I'm sure you'll reconsider what you said when you're less angered," the Deputy Rector remarked, "Now, I have some work to do, so I hope you don't mind me asking you to leave."

Dieter exited the office, astonished that Odoaker had misunderstood his question on sub-humans completely.

* * *

According to the board in the common room, there were sixty-four first-year students at Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning. The students were currently listed alphabetically, since no assignment or quiz scores had yet been submitted.

A handful of students on the list were not Germans, but were otherwise fellow Aryans from Scandinavian countries. Non-Aryan humans included two Latins, one from Italy and the other from Spain. By perusing this directory, Dieter came across a most unwelcome discovery.

There were far more Slavs at Durmstrang than just Karkaroff, his friend, and the professors of Herbology and History of Magic. In fact, there were no less than _twenty-one_ Untermenschen in the first-year alone, a mixture of Poles, Russians, and other Slavs from whatever dark reaches of the globe they came from. A full _third_ of the students in Dieter's year were sub-humans, and now Dieter knew the full horror of how deeply entrenched they were into the school.

Dieter could forgive Konrad for not knowing the most basic facets of racial studies, but the Deputy Rector's complete ignorance of the subject was nothing short of shocking. As far as Dieter could discern, the entire administration of Durmstrang Institute was unaware of the dangers Aryan students faced with such a dramatic infestation of Slavs. Neither were the students themselves, for that matter.

There were Untermenschen in the first-year common room, freely intermingling with Aryans. It was incredibly frustrating for Dieter, seeing his countrymen interacting with sub-humans, heedless of the dangers. It was even more frustrating to realise that identifying a Slav by sight was much harder than Dieter thought. Though some students had recognisably Slavic features that matched the diagrams in Dieter's racial classes, he could only identify some as Untermenschen by learning their names or listening to their accents. For the first time, Dieter really appreciated the hard work doctors did in the Reich – they must have been incredibly good to categorise the races just by the different shapes and features of skulls and faces.

Dieter didn't want to think about what would happen if the Aryans of Durmstrang continued to be subjected to the Slavic intrusion. If nothing was done, the Untermensch would infect the Aryan national body like some terrible disease, and forever plague the Volk with impurities and filth. Dieter could not let that happen. He knew he had to defend his nation and race from the intruding stench of sub-humanity!

Suddenly, Professor Schmidt's maxim, _'Attack is Defence'_, took on a greater, grander meaning...


	12. Meldungen

**Chapter XII: Meldungen**

_…So, have you met any nice girls at Durmstrang yet? What are they like? Also, I'm curious… how long are the hems of your school robes? Do the girls at Durmstrang wear skirts underneath or what?_

Anyway, it's great that you're enjoying wizard school, little brother. Just don't beat yourself up with all your classes, be on the lookout for pretty faces and bottoms, and don't forget to learn the spells I was talking about. Hope to hear again from you soon!

Your older brother,

~ Hans

Dieter shook his head. _Typical_, he thought darkly. _Does he ever think of anything else?_ Dieter was convinced that his older brother would find himself in a lot of trouble some day on account of that.

He put Hans' inane letter at the bottom and pulled out the next letter from the bundle. It was from his mother.

_Dear Dieter,_

I am pleased to read that you are adjusting well to Durmstrang and are making new friends. I do wish I could visit you (and see this magnificent castle myself) at some time, but I fear this will be impossible until the Yuletide holiday. Nevertheless, I love you more than words can describe, and I will at least try to send you a pie someday. I'm not exactly sure if an owl can carry the weight, but I will try.

Your brothers and sisters already miss you, and send you their love. The owl you sent, in their words, was not as nice as 'Flower' from last year, but was perfectly courteous and stayed for a day so we could write our replies.

I am immensely proud of you, Dieter. You have been given an opportunity of which we can only dream of, and I know you will not let it go to waste. Work hard, meet new people, and have fun. I wish you well, and good luck in everything you do at Durmstrang.

Love,

~ Mutti

He had received letters from his younger siblings as well. Their messages were not particularly long, and primarily concerned how much they already missed their older brother. However, Paul specifically requested in his reply that Dieter check the library for any information on dragons, in order to establish an evolutionary link from dinosaurs. That was a bit low on Dieter's list of priorities, but he decided would honour his younger brother's request. In addition to her letter, Marie had sent a drawing of what Durmstrang looked like based off Dieter's descriptions. The picture was far better than anything Dieter could produce, and fairly accurate, considering his younger sister had never seen the castle.

Though Dieter's letter from his father was full of parental praise and congratulations, it was much more businesslike. He emphasised Dieter's need to do as well as he could in his classes, and to bear himself as a model representative of National Socialism to the ignorant wizarding students.

Unexpectedly, Dieter also received a note from one of his friends back home – he never considered Karl to be the thoughtful type to send letters, but apparently he was. The letter was full of questions about East Prussia, and what the Napola school was like. Dieter frowned while he read. He had wanted to tell his Muggle friends about going to Durmstrang, but Professor Odoaker had let it be known from his first meeting that any discussion of magic with non-magical people outside of immediate family members was expressly forbidden. Dieter wished to see the stunned, awestruck looks on his Muggle friends' faces, but he would never get that chance.

Attached to Karl's letter was a note from Father:

_Dear Dieter,_

I assume you don't need to be reminded that you cannot reply to your friend Karl's letter with any information pertaining to your unique situation at Durmstrang. However, I must tell you that when you reply (assuming you do), you MUST NOT address it to Karl's house. I think they will be confused at the very least by a letter delivered by owl.

Therefore, please address to our home. I will find the appropriate postage stamps and envelope to make the letter look like it convincingly came from the NPEA Stuhm. Note that even if you send me your reply tomorrow, I will not deliver it to your friend for at least a few weeks, as I am certain that the war with Poland has disrupted the movement of non-essential correspondence from the east, and the arrival of your reply should reflect this.

I will be on the lookout for more letters sent your way. If I could be promoted to oversee the entire town's postage, life would be much simpler. However, secretly rooting through the boxes at the post office will have to suffice for the moment.

Again, work hard and learn as much as you can. You make me proud, Dieter. Perhaps one day with the magic you've learned from Durmstrang, you can make your country proud too.

~ Your Father

Dieter hadn't fully realised how problematic it would be to conceal his attending of a magical school. The cover story of going to a Napola school sounded deceptively simple, but his father's letter had once again proven otherwise. If it weren't for Father's thoughtfulness, Dieter might have been stuck trying to answer awkward questions from State Police agents, and probably wouldn't have made it to Durmstrang in the first place unless Professor Odoaker decided to intervene on his behalf.

However, Dieter resolved not to worry about such things. Besides, there was nothing he could do about it at Durmstrang, and his secret was safe in his father's capable hands.

A few days after the beginning of the war with Poland, the wizarding newspaper _Wahrheit_ once again had a big, eye-catching headline.

_MUGGLE WAR EXPANDS!  
France and Great Britain enter conflict!_

_  
The flames of war were fanned to distressing heights yesterday, 3 September 1939, by what can only be described as an act of madness. Despite (or perhaps encouraged by) the mindless devastation and death occurring on the German-Polish border, the Muggle governments of France and Great Britain declared their intention to widen the scope of this unfortunate conflict. Hours later, the Muggle regions of Australia, New Zealand, and India joined the fray, exporting this war beyond the continent of Europe._

"If Muggle countries continue to go to war with each other at this rate, the entire Muggle world will be caught up in this wild, confusing conflict," commented a Muggle Specialist. "These peoples' appetite for bloodshed will be hard to quench."

Currently, no satisfactory explanation exists for the outbreak of Muggle hostilities three days ago. However, by careful analysis of Muggle broadcasts and publications, a theory has emerged that the war was sparked by a trivial dispute over a city called Danzig, on the Baltic coast. However, as Danzig rests within the Zaubererreich's borders, analysts are at a loss as to why the Muggle co-inhabitants of Germany would invade Poland to seize a city they already owned.

Adding to the confusion, German Muggle sources state that Poland struck first. It is difficult to ascertain the truth, but ultimately, this is irrelevant. The speed at which this war expands is a disturbing indication of the eagerness of Muggle governments to embrace wholesale carnage to settle their squabbles.

"Why else would so many countries go to war simultaneously?" the Muggle Specialist said. "They must be venting bottled frustrations, or perhaps the Muggle fools Lebrun and Chamberlain just like fighting too much."

Exactly how this turbulent will conflict unfolds is uncertain, but it is likely that the slaughter will reach an unprecedented scale and scope. 'Guns', 'tanks', catapults, and other hideous contraptions that spit fire and metal seem appear destined to scar the continent with the torn wreckage of buildings and bodies, much like in the last large Muggle conflict of 1914-1918.

Kanzler Gellert Grindelwald commented in an official statement, "We wizards and witches of the Second Zaubererreich deplore violence, and our hearts go out to the helpless, innocent masses cruelly subjected to the murder brought by this needless war. But though we are lovers of peace, we are fearless crusaders of justice and right! There will be a time when warmongering Muggle tyrants are given a harsh lesson on wizarding benevolence."

"It will be for the greater good," the Chancellor concluded.

"Catapults?" Dieter mouthed incredulously. He checked the author, and it was the same Herr J. Federkiel who put forward the news of the war's outbreak a few days earlier.

The article's research was humorously poor. Anyone who thought that Muggles still fought with catapults must have been extraordinarily stupid. He was also amused by the brief mention of Lebrun and Chamberlain. Fools they were, but the article's image of them as belligerent warmongers struck Dieter as comical and absurd.

However, most of the article simply irritated Dieter. Frankly, it was an insult that such an inept writer passed off fellow (albeit non-magical) Aryans as bloodthirsty and obsessed with mindless fighting. Didn't Federkiel know that the war began because of Polish attacks on German sovereignty? That Danzig was a rightfully German city, which had suffered under the Polish boot since the Treaty of Versailles? How could any journalist be so shoddy with their research? Did Herr Federkiel know _anything_ about the Muggle world? Dieter read through the article a few times and came to the conclusion that the answer was 'no'.

Dieter made a mental note to ask for the correct story in his next letter to his father. He also had half a mind to write a letter this Federkiel fellow and chastise him.

* * *

Durmstrang castle was a compact cluster of towers, corridors, and stone and wood buildings nestled between its cluttered walls. Technically, there were four floors. However, with the castle built on an uneven, rocky outcrop projecting from the mountainside, there was no definitive ground floor. Sometimes the second floor of one part of the castle would connect directly to the fourth of another, and there was even one peculiar wing that had its floors numbered in fractions. Narrow, steep staircases and wider ones with saner inclines were to be found everywhere throughout the castle, so just walking from one class to another could be quite an undertaking.

The maps of the castle provided to each student, consequently, were hard to make any sense of. Dieter quickly realised that he would have just know his way around the castle than rely on the maps, so he devoted some of his spare time for the first few days to exploring the castle with his roommates – except Karkaroff, of course.

Flying and Quidditch Instruction, along with Defensive Magic soon became Dieter's favourite classes. It was a total thrill to learn how to fly, and Dieter suspected he would never grow tired of it. Though he was clearly outclassed by those students who had grown up around brooms, he felt more confident in the air, and more willing to experiment. He was looking forward to when they would learn how to play Quidditch once the basics of flying had been mastered.

In Defensive Magic, Professor Schmidt drilled the students through many exercises, honing their aim and practicing different wand positions. Dieter wasn't worried that they would only be using one spell (_"Mordax"_) for the next several months, as he found refining his technique as rewarding as learning his first hex. He discovered that his spell casting was most accurate in the Wand Arm In position. If he held his left arm out straight as a rough pointer and held his wand back alongside his right eye, he could envision an imaginary line pointing from the tip of his wand to the target. Dieter had only shot air rifle in the Deutsches Jungvolk and never done archery, but the duelling stance was vaguely reminiscent of the way an archer would shoot his bow.

"Just remember," Professor Schmidt warned, "that though this stance usually offers greater accuracy, it restricts your freedom of movement and can make spells with more complicated wand motions difficult."

Most of his other classes were quite interesting, or at least tolerable. Transfiguration was taught by short, bald, bearded man named Laurentius Boehm. He had low, raspy voice, but he was very friendly and patient. There was an awful lot of theory to learn in the class before they would attempt their first inanimate to inanimate object Transfiguration – a matchstick to a needle. Dieter thought he understood what was being said most of the time, but all the technical aspects of the magic sounded very confusing. Professor Boehm said that the practical side to Transfiguration was easier than the theory made it out to be, but Dieter wouldn't believe that until he did it.

Professor Regula Reinhard was a grey-haired woman who taught Charms. With accompanying, wild hand motions, she spent many minutes of each class lecturing on the importance of the Zaubererreich's mission, and learning Charms had something to do with it.

"I have stated this last class and I will do so again. How you perform in this class will affect more than just your marks. You students are the future of our Movement, and the knowledge you learn in this class will influence nothing less than the fate of our world! You must dedicate yourselves to your studies; you must strive to _accomplish!_ You will become true wizards and witches; you will be shining examples to all wizardkind!"

Dieter couldn't fathom how he and his generation would change the world, armed with the knowledge of how to turn teacups blue. But, despite Professor Reinhard's numerous and long-winded ideological tangents, Dieter did enjoy the class. Unlike Transfiguration, they did move on to practical spell work during the first week, but that was probably because Charms was simpler than Transfiguration, as the physical properties of the objects were not being changed.

In the Deutsches Jungvolk, Dieter had learned how to navigate by the stars, so he had some familiarity with different heavenly bodies and constellations. Therefore, the practical aspect of Astronomy class that concerned locating and charting important stars and planets was a relatively simple task for Dieter. However, there was more to Durmstrang's Astronomy class than finding north via Polaris – each star had a bewildering array of magical properties according to Professor Himmel, and the positioning of certain bodies affected earthly wizardry and even foretold the future under the right conditions. This was all very confusing, and Dieter neither cared about nor believed that some sparkling dots in the sky had some mysterious influence over him. He found himself disliking the class, in part because of the subject matter, but mostly for the fact that it was held late at night when he'd rather be sleeping. Konrad, Ernst, and most other students felt the same way.

For some strange reason, three teaspoons made up one tablespoon. Twelve inches went into a foot. Four quarts created a gallon. In addition to absurd sub-divisions of units, the measuring of certain ingredients by volume, others by weight, and some even by length compounded Dieter's confusion. Regardless of his irritation, Dieter had to quickly familiarise himself with the totally illogical and completely nonsensical Imperial system used in Potions class if he wanted to do well. He had little enthusiasm for the class. It was too much like cooking, which was clearly _girls'_ work, and the fact that it was taught by a woman (a bubbly, mushy one at that) only reinforced these thoughts. Nevertheless, he did not want to disappoint himself or his parents with less-than acceptable scores, so he grudgingly put some effort into the class.

Herbology was a complete bore of a class. Dieter had little interest in what Professor Lobkovskaya had to say about magical plants, and was resistant to the concept of a Slav teaching Aryans the niceties of wizarding peasant work. Resignedly, he toiled through the tedium of Herbology every other day, regularly checking his watch and waiting for the class to end.

However, Herbology was a picnic compared to History of Magic with Professor Simonov. Ernst sometimes referred to the Slavic professor as 'The Antichrist', and Dieter didn't know whether he was joking or not. It was a very fitting name for Simonov, though, as he was a total, demonic bastard. He was a hammer, and he saw all of his students as nails. Rather than engage in discussions or at least treat students as beings capable of intelligent thought, Simonov preferred to simply beat information into everyone's' heads. He was unrelenting. He lectured non-stop, and anyone who fell behind in their note taking or had a lapse of concentration paid dearly when grilled with questions. Dieter didn't know if it was possible to have _negative_ points in a class, but some scatterbrained students seemed to be heading in that direction.

Older students seemed to enjoy telling horror stories about History of Magic to the first-years. Dieter didn't know how many of the tales were true or not, but he figured Simonov was fully capable of doing everything that had been described.

Dieter didn't know what to do about Professor Simonov. He could just suffer through History of Magic class and answer the Slav's interrogations the best he could, but that was simply unacceptable. That would be submission. That would be admitting defeat. How could he let that Slav just walk over everybody? How could he let that Slav teach?

He wanted to stand up to Professor Simonov. He wanted to shout at his face and curse him for being the cruel, heartless Untermensch he was. But no matter how much Simonov deserved it, Dieter's reasoning, annoyingly, reminded him that would be a very, very stupid idea. Also, what would fighting the Professor accomplish, apart from him failing the class?

He knew he had to do _something_ about Professor Simonov, but any moves against him looked suicidal. He couldn't confront him. Dieter didn't want to admit it his cowardice, but that's what it was.

_Don't be so hard on yourself_, some part of Dieter's head said consolingly. _You can't take on every enemy by yourself right now. Besides, there's a line between being brave and being stupid._

Fortunately, Karkaroff was much more manageable. He was someone Dieter knew he could handle on his own, quite handily. They freely traded insults of 'Mudblood' and 'Untermensch' in the days before the weekend, but did not come to blows. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to postpone any _real_ fighting until after their detention together. After which…

Dieter's intention to remove the Slavs from Durmstrang was met with some doubtfulness from Konrad, and oddly enough, Ernst.

"But don't you see how important this is?" Dieter said, trying to reason with them. "How can any self-respecting Aryan tolerate being in the presence of Untermenschen?"

Konrad shrugged his shoulders. "I completely agree that Karkaroff and Professor Simonov are complete scumbags, but do you really have to try to get _every_ Slav out of the castle? I mean, except for those two, I don't know any of them, and they've done nothing to me."

"That's not the point, Konrad. Let me put it this way: would you want to share a room with a bunch of disease-ridden rats? Or cockroaches?"

Konrad looked very confused. "No… I guess. I don't like cockroaches."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?" Ernst asked.

"It's not exaggeration if it's _true."_

"Wait, how are 'Untermenschen' like vermin or bugs?" Konrad asked for clarification. "I thought you said they were primitive humans. Wizards were pretty primitive at one point, too."

Dieter sighed. It was difficult to explain the finer points of racial science, and even more difficult to make wizards understand it. The subject was second nature to Dieter, as it had been taught in his school for as long as he could remember, but wizarding children apparently had no such advantage.

"I don't mean primitive in terms of technology or knowledge – even we Aryans were cavemen once. You must have forgotten that the Untermensch is _biologically_ inferior. People like Karkaroff and Simonov are _sub_-humans. They're not even real human beings; they are animals, no different from rats and other pests."

Konrad looked doubtful. "Well, I don't know… Karkaroff doesn't look like an animal. He looks like a human being, I think,"

Dieter rolled his eyes. "Of course he LOOKS like a human. But he is really an animal because he has an animals' _brain_. He is biologically incapable of _thinking_ like we do, like a proper human being. Untermenschen like Karkaroff can imitate others or be trained to perform tasks, but they cannot _think_ for themselves. They cannot create; they can only copy. And because of their animal brain, they do not have true intelligence. They cannot reason or use logic, and cannot feel human feelings like love or obligation, and things like that."

He could see the cogs working in Konrad's head. "Well… I suppose that makes sense, sort of. I guess I can see that fitting Karkaroff and Professor Simonov, but what about all the other Slavs here? Some of them look kind and smart enough."

Additional explanations didn't seem to get the message through to Konrad. Some things the other boy understood, but for other details he was doubtful. "Could you try explaining, Ernst?" Dieter asked his fellow Muggle-born. "You might make better sense."

Ernst replied mildly, "No, I think you've done a much better job than I could."

"Look, Konrad, whether you understand it completely or not, this has to be done. We can't let Slavs be here at Durmstrang. This castle is supposed to be a school, not a place to train animals how to do tricks. We can't let Untermenschen intermingle with Aryans here – it's not healthy."

"But, you want to get _every_ Slav out of Durmstrang Institute?" Konrad questioned. "There has to be at least a hundred of them here. How do you expect to get them to leave by yourself?"

"I don't know _how_, just yet," Dieter admitted. "But I don't intend to do it alone. That's why I'm asking you to help."

He turned to Ernst. "What about you?" he asked. "Surely you see how important this is."

"I think you are taking this too drastically," Ernst answered after a pause. "Shouldn't Durmstrang be a place where everyone gets an equal chance to learn magic? Have a fresh start?"

Dieter brushed Ernst's suggestion aside irritably. "The professors here are awfully naïve to think that should apply equally to Aryans and Untermenschen. And besides, people like Karkaroff have already wasted that chance."

Ernst said nothing and was maddeningly noncommittal.

"Well… about Karkaroff," Konrad prompted. "I don't think any of us like him. I don't want him as a roommate. How about we just agree to get him out of our room at the very least, and then argue about Slavs later?"

Dieter wanted to press on and get the others to agree with him, but he reluctantly consented to Konrad's offer. "Fine. Let's just worry about Karkaroff for now…"

He didn't want to aim so low, but getting Karkaroff removed as their roommate would have to suffice for the moment. However, Dieter was confident his friends would see the truth and urgency of the Slav situation, eventually.

_But were they even his friends?_ Dieter wondered for the first time. He got along with Konrad very well, but he didn't know what to think of Ernst. The tall, thin boy was certainly friendly enough, but he just seemed… _mellow_, both in personality and conviction for National Socialism. He didn't draw attention to himself, was very restrained, and bookish. Admittedly, Dieter thought he never would have even paid much notice to Ernst at all were he not one of his roommates.

* * *

The groundskeeper was a tall man named Herr Jäger. He had a thin moustache and round spectacles, and wore a tall bulky boots and an expansive cloak with many pockets. It was with him that Dieter and Karkaroff served their detention together.

"Sorry boys, but you'll have to hand me your wands," he instructed. "You'll have to do your detention the hard way, I'm afraid."

Dieter and Karkaroff wordlessly handed Herr Jäger their wands. "Thank you," he said. "Follow me. We're going to the greenhouses."

Karkaroff groaned. Though it was all downhill, it was a long walk down Cardiac Slope. Dieter wasn't looking forward to the return journey, but he kept silent.

As they walked, the groundskeeper asked, "So, what's your detention for, boys?"

"Nothing," Dieter grumbled.

Karkaroff flared up. "What do you mean, nothing? You just walked up and punched me in the face!"

"So if he attacked you, Master Karkaroff, then why do you have detention too?" Herr Jäger inquired.

Dieter answered for him. "Because he's a spiteful piece of inhumanity who keeps calling me 'Mudblood', sir."

"Don't act so innocent, Heydrich," Karkaroff retorted. "You call me sort of part-human half-breed or whatever it is you say."

"The term is _Untermensch_, you stupid Slav." It was hugely tempting to shove Karkaroff off the path and send him tumbling down the mountainside, crashing into every tree along the way…

"Why you…" Karkaroff growled.

Herr Jäger seemed rather amused by the two boys' arguing. "I can see why you got detention," he commented mildly. "You boys have a lot to learn at Durmstrang."

"Well, excuse me, sir," Karkaroff asked in order to disengage from the insult swapping with Dieter. "But what does learning magic at Durmstrang have to do with detention?"

"I don't mean _that_ kind of learning. We teach more than just magic at Durmstrang Institute, boys. You will also learn how to get along with wizards who are different from you – this is very important, especially in this day and age."

The two boys looked at each other. _Cooperate with HIM?_ they both thought.

Herr Jäger seemed to have read the sceptical looks on their faces. "You are more similar than you realise," he explained. "Both of you are wizards, and that is the only defining trait that matters, boys. It is your magic that gives you power and responsibility over the world's lesser beings. We wizards mustn't fight amongst ourselves when our energies could be better used for the greater good."

_For the greater good_ – Dieter heard a lot of that phrase. But _what_ was the greater good? By Dieter's reasoning, punching Karkaroff and getting the Slavs out of Durmstrang would qualify as an act of philanthropy.

"Ah, here we are," the groundskeeper announced when they had reached the greenhouses. He opened the door with his wand and led the two boys inside.

It smelled strongly of manure inside. Dieter was struck by a sudden sense of foreboding…

His fears were confirmed when Jäger instructed, "You will be re-potting and adding fertilizers to all the plants in Greenhouse Three today, like thus…"

He demonstrated the technique with his wand. With some muttered spells, a turnip-like plant was pulled out of a pot and placed into a new container, which was filled with a pungent, brown material from a floating bag. He re-potted and fertilised some dozen plants in this manner, in less than twenty seconds.

"You will be doing this without wands, and your detention is over only once you two have re-potted every plant in the greenhouse. Are there any questions?"

Karkaroff was horrified. "But this will take hours! You expect me to work by hand like some Muggle?"

Herr Jäger actually smiled. "Yes, that's the idea. I think you will come to appreciate magic a little more after this detention." Then, with utter seriousness, "But… you should keep in mind that performing magic is a right. If you do not recognise the obligations magic entails – in your case, accepting all wizards as comrades with a common purpose – you just may find yourself with a snapped wand. Remember that."

As far as Dieter was concerned, Karkaroff would be considered a friend and comrade when Hell froze over.

"Good luck, boys. Work hard. I'll check in on you from time to time." The groundskeeper locked the greenhouse door and left.

Dieter glared at Karkaroff, who replied in kind. "Let's just get this over with," Dieter growled.

Karkaroff yawned. "No, I'd rather sit here and let you do all the work, Mudblood."

Dieter picked up a trowel and brandished it like a knife. "Unless you want this trowel in your eye socket, I suggest you work."

"Fair enough," the Slav said. He picked up some tools and headed to the opposite end of the greenhouse, as far away from Dieter as possible – he was agreeable with the Slav's choice of position.

It was dull, dirty work. Dieter loosened the blue-leaved, turnip-like plants with the trowel and roughly dumped them into the larger pots. Careful to only touch the burlap bag and not the contents, he poured in the dried dragon dung fertiliser, with a similar lack of precision.

At some point, Dieter discovered that it was a bit easier and faster to simply turn the small pots upside-down and drop the plants into the larger planters. He didn't know if the plants were adversely affected by rough handling, but he hardly cared.

The hours crawled by. There were a multitude of potted plants, and Dieter thought it would never end…

Slavs were cowards. True to form, Karkaroff had reported the punching incident and gotten Dieter in trouble. Why couldn't the Slav had grown some backbone and suffered like a man? Then Dieter wouldn't have to be in this stupid detention!

Then it occurred to Dieter that was something of a contradiction and a dilemma. A cowardly Karkaroff would be easy to face off in a fight, but would be more likely to get Dieter detention. A braver one probably wouldn't go running to the teachers, but would offer resistance. Which Karkaroff was preferable?

Something landed on Dieter's shoulder. Though it was mercifully dry, it STANK. Quick as a flash, he looked in the direction of where the fertiliser had come and saw Karkaroff on the other side of the planter-laden table. He was slapping fertiliser into pots with unnecessary force, flinging loose bits of the dried dragon manure (and whatever else was in it) in all directions.

Did he detect a hint of a smile on Karkaroff's face…?

Fuming, Dieter dug his trowel into his sack of Swedish Short-Snout compost, scooped up a sizable amount, took aim, and flung it at Karkaroff's face.

The Slav yelled in alarm. He sputtered a stream of curses in Russian or whatever language it was, and frantically brushed the manure-compost composite off his face. It was still flecked with little brown bits when he looked up at Dieter, enraged.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Karkaroff demanded.

"What about you?" Dieter shot right back. "You threw that fertiliser at me and it landed on my shoulder!"

"You hit me in the FACE!" the Slav yelled as he scooped up some fertiliser ammunition with his trowel. Dieter ducked to avoid the projectile.

At that moment, Herr Jäger had decided to check on the two boys. _"Petrificus Totalus!"_ he yelled, and suddenly Karkaroff went as stiff as a board. Before Dieter could laugh at the Slav's predicament, he too felt his arms snap to his sides and his body go rigid.

The groundskeeper walked over and undid the spells. "Now, would you mind telling me why I found you two boys throwing dragon dung at each other?"

Levelly, Dieter said, "It was Karkaroff, sir. I was re-potting the plants when he threw some of the dung at me. I threw some back, and it grew from there."

"What? I was just minding my own business and then you decided to throw manure into my face!"

Jäger could not determine the guilty party. "I do not care who started it. The fact is, you boys were fighting during your _detention_ for fighting! I think you'll need some more persuading to get along."

The groundskeeper waved his wand and all of the re-potted plants – _all of them_ – vomited their contents into the air. Dieter watched in horror as several hours of his labour was reversed.

"Start over," Herr Jäger ordered. "No more fighting. If you work really hard and don't make any more trouble, you might finish just before sundown."

The two boys deliberately avoided each other's gaze after that. They worked like men possessed, not wanting to stay in the greenhouses for any longer than necessary.

Dieter noticed that Karkaroff was still digging out the blue turnip plants with his trowel. It was slow and inefficient…

"What do you want?" the Slav asked when the Aryan approached him.

Still avoiding eye contact, Dieter said quickly, "There's a quicker way to do that. Just turn the pot upside-down and dump the contents into the bigger planter. Then just put the plant right side-up and fill it with the fertiliser." Without waiting for any kind of response or reaction from Karkaroff, Dieter turned back and went to his corner of the greenhouse.

Every fifteen minutes to half an hour or so, Herr Jäger appeared, peered through the glass, and left. Dieter and Karkaroff deliberately kept their distance, not wanting another setback to completing their detention.

It was getting dark. The hours seemed to stretch on forever, but at long last, the last pot was completed.

"Very good, boys," the groundskeeper said, returning their wands. "You may go now."

They made the arduous climb up Cardiac Slope. It was much harder than their first time off the Durmstrang ship, since they were tired from all of the work in the greenhouse. Dieter managed to stay ahead of the Slav, and reached dormitory 6J first. He wasted no time in getting to the shower.

* * *

Dieter and Karkaroff (and the other Slav who tended to be with him) avoided each other for the next few days. They both wanted to settle scores, but the threat of another unpleasant detention kept them from doing anything drastic… for a little while. Soon enough, they were openly insulting each other and prodding nerves. In a strange way, the feuding became a routine for the both of them, just as much as attending each class.

Towards the end of his second week at Durmstrang Institute, classes were interrupted by an announcement. The Rector's amplified, slightly squeaky voice was somehow heard in every classroom: "Attention all instructors and students. Please assemble in the Great Hall for an important message."

"What the hell is that balding man thinking, interrupting my class?" Professor Simonov blurted angrily. "This is _my_ time, damn it!"

Nobody in History of Magic shared Simonov's sentiments. Christmas had come early for everyone in his class, and they all hastened to leave ("Don't run in the classroom!").

"What do you think this is about?" Dieter asked.

Konrad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Must be important."

They found some seats in the Great Hall. Crowded around them were few faces Dieter recognised, as they were mostly older students. Within a few more minutes, the Hall was filled.

Professor Odoaker placed a large wireless set on the head table. Dieter was surprised by the presence of a piece of Muggle technology, and he learned that wizards did indeed use such sets.

But the Deputy Rector tapped the wireless with his wand, and suddenly the device relayed sound louder and clearer than any set Dieter had encountered.

_"…Thank you for the update, Julius,"_ a reporter said. _"And for those of you tuning in right now, there is some confusion and anticipation towards the Zaubererreich Kanzler's imminent emergency address. A crowd of several hundred wizards and witches has gathered in Gellert Grindelwald Platz to witness the Chancellor's speech."_

"Any ideas on what it could be about?"

"I don't know for sure, and I would guess that the answer is held only by the Revolutionary Vanguard and Chancellor Grindelwald himself, currently. However, the breakdown of communications in Poland is a likely subject. There are some confusing reports coming from the region."

"Is there any word about what those reports detail?"

"The Ministry of Public Information is most likely trying to make sense of them as we speak, Wilhelm. I suspect they are the topic of Chancellor Grindelwald's address…"

The two reporters talked for a few minutes about something in Poland that neither knew anything about. Dieter had his own theories – the wizarding newspapers spoke of great German advances into Poland in the current Muggle war (the accuracy of the general events if not the details was confirmed by some of Father's letters), so the speech might have something to do with that.

Finally,

_"Wizard and witch listeners, we now have Gellert Grindelwald, Chancellor of the Second Zaubererreich."_

A loud cheer came out of the wireless set as a crowd of people many kilometres away greeted their leader. Dieter noticed that some people in the Great Hall were cheering too, oblivious to how silly it was. Though Grindelwald had no way of hearing anyone in the Hall, it was the gesture that counted, Dieter supposed.

The room went silent when the wizarding Chancellor spoke.

_"Wizards and witches of the Zaubererreich, of Europe, and the World. I speak to you now not as a politician, not as a Chancellor, but as a citizen of world wizardry. For decades I have spoken of the necessity of all wizards and witches to forsake their rivalries, to recognise their common bonds of magic, and to unite in the pursuit of common goals. And now, more than ever, this is the path that all wizardkind must take._

From the beginning of this month of September, the continent of Europe has been subjected to the ravages of Muggle warfare. New and terrible weapons have been unleashed. Unspeakable acts of barbarism have transpired. Once again, Mugglekind has surrendered itself to the madness of war, heedless of the inevitable devastation to the land and suffering of millions. But we wizards and witches were not concerned with the battles of Muggles. We were confident in our security. We believed that these Muggle conflicts could not affect us. With a heavy heart, I announce that this thinking was wrong.

The unthinkable occurred early this morning in Poland, at around five o'clock, Warsaw time. The destruction of the Muggle war has visited the city, and in the course of this fighting, a stray explosive weapon struck the Polish Department of Magic. Though the headquarters of the Polish magical government was hidden from Muggle view, its concealment was not enough to protect it from the blast.

Fifteen wizards and witches lost their lives this morning. Fifteen magical people, just like you and me. Fifteen wizards and witches with futures and potentials. Fifteen innocent souls, slaughtered by the indiscriminate barbarity of Muggle warfare! And this is not counting the dozens of injured, maimed, and those hanging to life by a thread!

Our hearts go out to the victims of this tragedy, and we pray that the casualty list does not grow. Let us observe a moment of silence for the slain…"

The Chancellor sombrely read a list of names – they were all in Polish. There was complete quietude for a minute after Grindelwald finished the casualty list with _"Augustyn Zawadzki." _The atmosphere in the Great Hall was morose and grim, but… Dieter couldn't understand why Grindelwald should be so worried about the deaths of some Slavs.

_"Thank you,"_ the Zaubererreich Kanzler said. _"May the fallen wizards and witches never be forgotten, and I offer my deepest condolences to the victims' families. I wish the new Polish provisional Minister for Magic, Włodzimierz Kaczmarek, the best of luck in pulling his government through this crisis._

Whether we like it or not, all of wizardkind has been affected by this disaster in Warsaw. Wizardkind is no longer safe from the wars of Muggles. Those people seek and devise ever more terrible weapons; weapons of greater destructive power than Erumpet horn fluid or even the strongest Blasting Curses. These weapons are as indiscriminate as they are powerful, and as the world has witnessed today, they care not whether they murder Muggles or wizards. With the continent of Europe plunged into Muggle war, there is no telling where good magical blood will next be shed. No wizard or witch is safe.

More than ever, all wizardkind must find common cause and unite to secure our future as a people. The cowardice of world wizardry must end! The apathy of centuries must perish! We will be steadfast, and we will not stand for these Muggle transgressions! We will not tolerate the spilling of innocent magical blood!"

The crowd gathered in Gellert Grindelwald Platz roared their approval, and their shouts coming from the wireless set mixed with those of the students in the Great Hall.

_"My conviction for peace speaks for all wizardkind. But peace and safety for our world requires us to act, and ACT we will! We are firm in our beliefs! We are not afraid of the challenges the future will bring to all wizarding people. Whatever the costs; whatever the obstacles, we will bring peace to this earth! The journey will be long and full of hardships, but we will work tirelessly for the GREATER GOOD!"_

A great shout filled the Hall, an answer the leader's call. Dieter didn't have time to think about Grindelwald's words. His thoughts were drowned out by the roaring slogan, and the only action that made sense was to shout too.

_"For the greater good!"_

"FOR THE GREATER GOOD!"

**"FOR THE GREATER GOOD!"**


	13. Treiber und Klatscher

**Chapter XIII: Treiber und Klatscher**

A probing searchlight found and fixed itself on a German bomber. Every anti-aircraft gun in the area opened up on it.

_BAAAMMM!BAAAMMM!BAAAMMM!BAAAMMM!_ the Bofors guns roared, spitting out streams of 40mm shells. The hungry guns ate up ammunition astonishingly quickly for weapons of their calibre. They chewed through four round clips every two seconds, requiring constant attention from the loaders just to keep them fed, like trying to keep a sieve filled with water.

The bomber braved the bursting shells as if they weren't there, but just when it appeared that the aircraft was going to escape out of the guns' range, the unfortunate Heinkel He 111 exploded into an angry, orange fireball. The explosion's report thundered a second after the flash and lit up the smoky haze, as would a large – _an impossibly large_ – firework.

The Polish anti-aircraft crews cheered. They had drawn their first blood, but nobody knew who exactly brought the plane down. One of the forty millimetres? A seventy-five? It didn't matter at the moment, and they could argue about that later…

"You, kid! Fetch more shells!" A lieutenant barked at a teenage boy in civilian clothing.

Regardless of (or encouraged by) the officer's tone, the boy enthusiastically saluted and shouted, "Yes, sir!" He seized a wheelbarrow and hurried to the ammunition stockpiles, weaving his way through the rubble and roadblocks.

He was not the only civilian to offer his assistance to the soldiers. In essence, nothing short of the entire able-bodied population of Warsaw had risen to the task. Though there weren't many spare guns to go around, their labour was their weapon. Ignoring the pounding of the bombs and shells, the people cleared rubble, fought fires, ferried ammunition, and blocked off almost every street with barricades to help forestall the inevitable German assault.

There was one building that, _for the moment_, lay untouched. Downtown Warsaw was a charred, burnt-out wreck, but this small, unassuming bakery seemed blissfully unaware of the destruction and frenzied activity around it. Had people not been preoccupied with fortifying the city, some might have considered the building with some curiosity.

Everyone was also too busy to notice a man wearing a dark red cloak walk straight through the bakery's strangely intact windowpane.

The interior of the bakery was much too spacious for the buildings small dimensions. In fact, there was no bakery inside at all, but a grand entry room with hardwood floors and several fireplaces along the walls.

The red robed man presented his wand to a witch behind a counter. A little brass scale hummed then confirmed his identity, and once cleared, he took a lift a few floors up to his department.

"Morning, Piotr," a co-worker greeted him as he came through the door of the Polish Magical Defence Division headquarters.

Piotr replied with a mumbled greeting. He didn't like waking up at four in the morning to go to work, so he was still groggy and half asleep.

Unhappily, he set to work on a report he hadn't finished the night before. The Defence Division had been working overtime recently, working late into the night and starting early in the mornings after little sleep. _Trust that mad German to cause trouble…_

But, of course, Grindelwald's hands were clean. There was no definitive link between the Zaubererreich Chancellor and the recent unrest, but Piotr felt intuitively the man was behind it.

He dipped his eagle quill into the inkwell and began to write.

_…group of six pro-Zaubererreich protesters had performed magic on Muggles with blatant disregard for the Statute of Secrecy. The Muggles in question had been Confunded, but were otherwise unharmed. Subjects were Obliviated after interrogations by myself and Officer Spieprzaj Dziadu…_

He detailed the events of the previous night. He and some others had tracked down the self-styled wizarding revolutionaries and apprehended them. Unfortunately, they had resisted, and Anastazja was sent to the hospital after the confused melee.

The room was not silent, despite the fact that nobody was speaking. The faint scratching of quills on parchment was drowned out by a constant rumble from outside. It was the thunder of the Muggle weapons. While outside, Piotr was amazed at how _LOUD_ those nefarious Muggle contraptions were. He was surprised the devices didn't kill people just by their noise alone, as a Mandrake would.

As if responding to his thoughts, there was a loud, thudding bang that sounded like a massive book being slammed onto a table. The walls shuddered and the windows rattled. A bit of dust fell from the ceiling.

The first time a Muggle bomb had gone off nearby, everyone in the Defence Division had bolted out their seats. No such drama occurred now, after a full week of bombardment. Piotr and his co-workers had gotten used to the constant rumble and the occasional jolt, but that didn't mean they weren't annoyed by it.

"Stop it, you damn Muggles!" Kacper said irritably from his desk. "I'm trying to work here!"

There was another bang, and the slightly muffled firecracker cacophony continued unabated.

"Somehow, I don't think they're listening," Piotr commented dryly.

Kacper shook his head and shouted in the direction of the magically reinforced window, "SHUT UP!"

Amazingly, all went quiet. Then Piotr noticed the wand in his co-worker's hand. "Sound-blocking charms. Marvellous things, aren't they?"

"Without a doubt," Kacper said, grinning. "Now, let's just see how long the spell lasts. I'll bet five Grosz for an hour."

"Forty-five minutes," Piotr replied. A few of those who had been listening on the conversation also placed bets. Lech was the most pessimistic of all, betting twenty minutes for the racket outside to worm its way through the muffling charm again.

Maja leaned over from her desk and gave a disapproving look.

"What?" Piotr asked.

"How can you think of gambling, boys? Don't you realise what you are doing?" she scolded.

When Piotr and Kacper simply shrugged their shoulders, she answered, "You're gambling on people's _lives_. Every loud bang you hear is more people getting killed!"

"We're not betting on people dying, Maja," Kacper explained. "We're just seeing how long the charm–"

She waved his excuse aside. "That doesn't matter! It's the same thing."

Piotr looked at Kacper and rolled his eyes. He turned back to his female co-worker and said, "Look, Maja. I think it's horrible that all these Muggles are fighting, but if they want to kill each other, that's their decision, it's up to them. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Who says we can't?" she shot back. "We're wizards and witches, aren't we? We can do _magic_. I say that magic is wasted if it doesn't do some good for this world."

Piotr raised his eyebrows. "Don't tell me you've started supporting Grindelwald, Maja."

"So what if have? Why haven't you?" she answered defensively. "Grindelwald knows what to do about the world – not just the wizarding world, mind you – the _entire_ world, both magical and Muggle. We have a responsibility as wizards and witches to use our magic for the Greater Good."

He shook his head and chuckled. "Sorry, Maja, but I'll need more convincing than that. Grindelwald is a radical. He has some interesting ideas, but I got a bad feeling he'll do anything to get his way, even if they are _for the greater good_, whatever that means. He's two-faced. I don't trust him."

Maja gave him a disapproving look. "Why _don't_ you trust him? He's delivered on every promise he's made – much more than you can say about politicians in our country."

"And don't you find it odd that every one of his decisions is passed with one hundred percent majorities? That's foul play if you ask me…"

The debate would have continued, but one of their superiors stepped in. "As fascinating as your discussion is, we are not here to argue about politics. Get back to work."

Perfectly happy to obey, Piotr returned to his report. He could feel Maja's disapproving glares on his back before she too resumed her work.

_I better keep an eye on her_, Piotr thought to himself. Though he didn't want to think ill of his colleagues, he felt uneasy about Maja's political leanings. Grindelwald had a number of supporters in Poland; even wizards in high Department positions like Chief Warlock Kaczmarek of the central courts. They were all up to no good, as far as Piotr was concerned: ruthless, but hiding behind a mask of lofty – and regrettably, _popular_ – ideals. Minister Zawadzki should take a leaf from the Russians' book and just have them all arrested, or at least taken out of government.

But no sooner had the thought appeared in his head, did Piotr feel guilty. He had known Maja for six years, and she was hardworking, dependable, and perfectly likeable despite her enthusiasm for that man's peculiar principles. Was it just to… _persecute_ people just because of their potential to cause trouble?

_No_, Piotr thought. _We're not like the Russians. And we're not Germans either…_

The minutes passed very slowly – writing boring reports had that effect. That was the least favourite part of his job, and he would much rather be out on the field, making more arrests. But drinking a nice, hot cup of coffee would be just as good.

Suddenly, Piotr had a task to do that didn't involve writing. "Does anyone want coffee?" he offered. "If you all pitch in a few Grosz, I'll get everyone a cup."

Sixty seconds later, he was running down the corridor to the lift, pockets full of pooled change. His boss had warned him not to dawdle, and Piotr had no intention of returning any later than five o' five, as ordered.

He returned from the lobby, running as fast as he dared without spilling his precious cargo. He stopped when he reached the Defence Department, balanced the tray of mugs carefully with one hand, and reached for the doorknob with the other–

Piotr had no time to react. The last thing he saw was the fiery blast tearing through the wall and door; then crushing blackness.

…

_"Alle Angriffsziele wurden beseitigt, Sturmtruppenführer."_

"Sehr gut. Gebt die Entwarnung. Wir disaperatieren zum Hauptquartier in drei... zwei... eins... JETZT!" *

* * *

"So, do you understand now?" Dieter asked from his side of the table. The three boys were in the first-year common room. Dieter and Konrad were conversing, and Ernst was being slightly anti-social by sitting to the side, reading a book.

"I think so. A little," Konrad replied, consulting the parchment had made for him. "But I still have to wonder why nobody taught me this when I was younger."

"Well, you'll find that Muggles know things that wizards don't," Dieter explained, grinning slightly. Though he hadn't grown up around magic and felt out of place at Durmstrang at times, he was proud of his Muggle heritage. He knew things others didn't, which was always a good feeling until he reminded himself that he was obligated to share that knowledge with those who lacked, whom were many. His roommate was a good place to start.

Dieter continued, "Grindelwald says that wizards will one day come out of hiding. When that day comes, you wizards should learn a few things from us Muggles. I'm sure you'll find our knowledge useful."

Konrad nodded slowly. Dieter suspected that the wizard-born boy had his reservations about that assertion.

"You're not a Muggle," Ernst said, looking up from his book. He had been listening in on the conversation.

"What?" Dieter replied.

"You're not a Muggle," the introverted boy repeated. "You're a wizard now."

Dieter spent a moment trying to figure out why Ernst had made that comment, and remembered what he had said to Konrad about 'us Muggles'.

"Ah. So I misspoke."

"Where were we?" Konrad inquired.

Ernst went back to his book, and the other two boys returned to their conversation, consulting the world map Dieter had traced from a textbook.

"So, without looking at the map key, could you point to the world's concentrations of Latin peoples…? Okay. How about Aryans?"

Dieter believed that the map he had compiled would impress his old Muggle Geography teacher if he had the chance to see it. He was certain he had remembered the correct placement of all of the world's human and sub-human races; teaching another student would have certainly counted for something as well.

He had marked areas of heavy Jewish infestations with little six-pointed stars. Konrad had trouble understanding the concept of international Jewry, and Ernst's descriptions of them as 'deluded deniers of Christ' didn't help. In fact, thinking of the Jew in religious terms hadn't even cross Dieter's mind.

Dieter didn't even know what their beliefs were, apart from their apparent worship of money. Whatever their religion was didn't really matter, as far as Dieter was concerned – after all, a Jew who converted to Christianity was still a Jew. His teachers and books had made that very clear. What made a Jew were the biological abnormalities of their race; imperfections that turned them into parasites of civilised societies. Some freak accident of evolution had brought the Hebrew to the world, and now everyone had to deal with him.

"Do you think there could be these Jews you are talking about at Durmstrang?" Konrad asked.

Dieter looked up, surprised. That was a question that hadn't even crossed his mind. "Why would there be? _How_ could there be?"

"Well, you say they're Unter-whatsits. If there are Slavs here, couldn't that mean there are Jews here too?"

Without hesitation, Dieter answered, "No, don't be stupid. Slavs are one thing, but Jews are something else. They're not even _partially_ human. And we know from our classes that only humans can perform magic. Animals can't."

"But… I thought you said that Slavs were animals in human bodies," Konrad said with some confusion.

"They are. So what are you trying to say?"

"Erm… how are Jews and Slavs different, if they're both Untermenschen? How can one be at Durmstrang but not the other?"

Dieter sighed. "It's complicated. You'll get used to it."

Konrad shook his head. "This Muggle stuff of yours makes no sense. Can't we talk about aeroplanes instead or something like that? Remind me why you're trying to teach me this?"

Dieter responded with a question. "Are you German?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Then you're a National Socialist," Dieter said simply. "The NSDAP is a true people's party, and it's a movement of all Germans. It doesn't matter whether you are a wizard or not. To be German is to be a National Socialist – they're the same thing. It's really important that you understand what it means to be a Aryan German."

Konrad slid the map Dieter had made back to him across the table. "I never would have thought being German could be so complicated. Let's do something else." He glanced at Ernst's book and asked, "What are you reading?"

Ernst showed the cover of a small book bound in blue leather. "The Bible. Book of Matthew."

"So which one is it? Is it the 'Bible' or the 'Book of Matthew'?"

"The Bible. The… _chapters_, I guess you could call them, are just called 'books'." He got up. "Now, I'm going to go outside and pray. It is Sunday, after all. Do any of you want to come?"

Konrad stood up from his chair too. "Sure. As long it doesn't have anything to do with Untermenschen or anything like that, it sounds interesting."

"It isn't," Dieter warned. "Religion is really boring, Konrad."

Ernst gave Dieter a cold look and walked away. Konrad followed after a departing, "Well, I'll see you in a bit."

Their departure left Dieter alone at the table in the common room, confused. "Huh," he breathed. Was Konrad really _that_ interested in Muggle Christianity? Or was he just bored with Dieter teaching… or perhaps _lecturing_ him about National Socialism?

He was probably just curious, Dieter concluded.

With nothing productive to do in the first-year's tower, he decided to check out the school library. His brother, Paul, had asked him to investigate the origins of dragons, his theory being that the beasts were descended from dinosaurs. Dieter hadn't done anything about his younger brother's request in the weeks since receiving his letter, so he felt that it was about time that he honoured it.

The library was on the south side of the castle, occupying a wing and an adjoining tower offset at one end. Through double doors and an empty desk, Dieter saw that the floor plan was rather skinny, cramped, and had few windows, thus relying on many floating glass orbs with candles inside for lighting. Since the library couldn't expand horizontally, it simply went _up_ instead.

The ceiling had to be at least three or four storeys high from the floor, or about the same height as the Great Hall. The bookcases crowded against the walls and in the tight rows of the centre aisles were just as tall. Interspaced roughly every story in height were thick oaken crossbeams that doubly supported narrow catwalks and prevented the freestanding cases from toppling over. The catwalks were made accessible by a number of truly absurd, vertical ladders that reached the top of the towering ceiling.

The library's proportions and complex layout overwhelmed Dieter, and he had no idea where to start looking for dragon books. He wandered around on the floor level, looking for some sort of cataloguing system.

"Salutations, young one," a wheezy voice unexpectedly said from behind, causing Dieter to jump. "May I be so honoured to help you find something?"

He turned around and faced who could only be the librarian. The wizard was very old, and had a big mane of very wispy white hair. He also sported prominent large sideburns that must have gone out of fashion in the 1870s, and small round spectacles attached to a fine chain around his neck. His slouching posture, long limbs, and the big circle of hair framing his face gave him the appearance of some overgrown monkey.

"Er… sure. Can you tell me where I can find books on dragons?"

"Certainly, young boy. You'll find them in section MZ, numbers two hundred twenty-five point five L two _blah blah blah something something with numbers and letters_... General reference books on magical creatures can be found in the same section, from zero A five seven _something something blah blah something_..."

The librarian's instructions went straight through one ear and out the other. Dieter didn't remember anything he said apart from section 'MZ'. "Thank you," he said nevertheless, not wanting to embarrass himself by asking the wizard to repeat himself.

"You are most welcome, young sir," the librarian said, before promptly turning around and scurrying away.

It took several minutes of wandering, quite lost, among the narrow aisles before he found section MZ. He was annoyed to discover that it was almost towards the very top of one of the towering bookcases. At least the climb would offer an interesting vantage point to observe the rest of the library.

He scaled a ladder, and he found himself wondering how many students had fallen off and injured themselves. Hitting the floor from the very top would not be pretty. With that cheerful thought in his head, he climbed without looking down.

Dieter selected some books on dragons more or less at random. Holding the books with one arm, he carefully lowered himself onto one of the suspended catwalks and sat on one of the tiny benches. He spent a longer time than he expected flipping through the various texts about dragons.

The information on the different dragon species and the uses for their body parts was quite interesting, but Dieter could find no information pertaining to the origins of dragons. Checking some books on general 'Magizoology', he couldn't find anything about dinosaurs either. In fact, wizards didn't seem to have any concept of evolution, as the word was absent in every index he checked. He concluded that he would have to give Paul some disappointing news in his next letter.

He put the books back on their shelves and clambered down the ladder. On the way back to solid ground, he passed a section that caught his eye.

_MU: Muggle Books_

For a library with countless tomes on every conceivable magical subject, the section for Muggle writings was tiny – only two shelves of books sorted by author, and with no sub-divisions by topic. The selection was more or less random. Dieter spotted a few children's books like _The Poisonous Mushroom_ and Grimm's fairy tales, a few technical volumes on drills, old religious texts, and two copies of _Mein Kampf_ – a discovery that raised some degree of hope in Dieter. Perhaps _some_ wizards were not totally ignorant on National Socialism.

As a going-off-to-school present, Dieter's father had given him his own leather-bound, hardcover copy of the book. He had read select excerpts in Muggle school, but never the whole thing from beginning to end, before. However, he hadn't gotten past chapter one, with all the schoolwork and distractions of wizardry at hand.

Dieter had been trying to teach Konrad about National Socialism for the last couple of weeks, but had only achieved some success with the simpler concepts. Perhaps his friend would understand more if he learned from the Führer's word's himself.

He made up his mind to check out a copy, and reached for the book. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain like an electrical shock, and snatched his hand away. He shook off the tingling feeling and reached for the book a second time, but again he was shocked.

_So it wasn't static electricity, then_, he thought. There must have been a spell of some sort that shocked people who reached for the books. As for why, Dieter did not know, but he wasn't deterred. He figured that he should just plunge his hand in yank the book out, if he could will himself not to flinch at the initial pain.

Before he could enact this plan, a voice wheezed, "What do you think you are doing my dear boy?"

It was the old librarian. He didn't call from the floor – incredibly, he was hanging onto some shelves not three metres away from Dieter. The librarian didn't seem to have much use for the ladders. In fact, Dieter noticed that on all of the shelves, certain books were pushed in to make footholds.

Ignoring the oddity of the sight in front of him, Dieter answered, "I'm just trying to get a book."

"Are you a third-year?"

"No, why?"

The librarian explained, "Muggle books are only allowed for checkout by students in the third year and above."

"What?" Dieter protested. "But I'm a Muggle-born! Why shouldn't I be able to look at these?"

The old wizard's answer was very unhelpful. "It's just school policy, young boy. Now, there are plenty of other books you will find interesting. I would recommend Hohenheim's _Prognostications_…"

Dieter returned a non-committal, "Right, sound's interesting," and left the library with a book on minor hexes and jinxes – he might learn something useful to use against Karkaroff from it. On the walk back to the dormitories, he wondered why the school couldn't trust students below the third year with Muggle books. They couldn't do any harm, Dieter thought. In fact, distributing copies of Hitler's _Mein Kampf_ might do some good.

But for the time being, it looked like Konrad would just have to share Dieter's copy.

* * *

"You were right," Konrad said the next day at breakfast, keeping his voice low.

"About what?" Dieter asked.

Konrad gave a furtive glance towards Ernst, who was giving his attention to some sausage and not their conversation. "Religion," Konrad explained. "It really was boring."

"See? What did I tell you?" Dieter couldn't help but smile. He didn't have fond memories of sitting around on hard pews when he was little, listening to the pastor's drone. Sermons and prayers were things the wizarding world didn't need.

The newspapers arrived. In the days following the disaster in Warsaw, the Poles had been showered with sympathy by all the wizarding governments of Europe, especially now that the confirmed death toll had climbed into the thirties as the wounded succumbed and as more bodies were found. But, alarmingly, the most sympathetic of all was the Zaubererreich. Grindelwald had pledged funds and support in rebuilding their Department of Magic, and the new Kaczmarek government had returned that generosity.

That morning's issue of _Warheit_ bore unexpected news.

_Polish Provisional Government Pledges Solidarity and Friendship with Zauberreich.  
Annexation 'a Possibility', States Minister Kaczmarek_

It was a long article, but Dieter read it all the way through, pushed on by some morbid curiosity. The newspaper stated that in light of the disaster in their Department of Magic, their new Sejm (what the Poles apparently called a parliament of some sort) had unanimously voted for cooperation with their German neighbor. The issue of complete absorption into the Zaubererreich would be decided in the coming months, most likely by plebiscite.

_"We mourn those lost at the hand of Muggle violence and carelessness, but we wizards will remain steadfast and look to the future," commented the provisional Polish Minister for Magic, Włodzimierz Kaczmarek, in his announcement to the Sejm. "This recent tragedy has heightened our common bonds of magic, and given us common ground with our friends to the west. Together, we will strive to create a better, safer world in which all wizards and witches can live in peace."_

The rest of the article dived into a lot of incomprehensible politics, as well as the implications of a proposed incorporation of Poland into the Second Zaubererreich. Dieter was torn between pride and horror at the prospect. One the one hand, Germany (both the Muggle and wizarding variants) had a natural right to expand at the expense of the sub-human races. However, the article seemed to suggest that the Poles would not become the subjects of Aryans, but _partners_, of all things! The thought was positively alarming. Had he misread the article? Was he still tired from waking up half an hour earlier, and he was just seeing things in the newspaper?

Dieter decided that had to have been the case. He didn't have the time to reread the article to check, since he had to rush off to his first class. With his roommates (minus Karkaroff, of course), they flew down the mountainside and alighted in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch.

Professor Adlersflügel began the class once everyone had arrived. "Gather around, everyone, and pay attention. Now that all of you know how to fly, we today begin the second part of this course – Quidditch."

With a casual wave of his wand, several wooden cases on the ground opened, each revealing a number of balls. There was a large red ball in each case, and pairs of smaller, black balls. They were moving, and appeared to be straining against the straps holding them in place. Students exchanged excited looks.

"Some of you may be wondering why Quidditch, a _sport_, is taught as a class at Durmstrang. Well, I'll tell you why. In Quidditch, you must be able to cooperate with your teammates and coordinate your efforts. In Quidditch, you must be able to think on your feet, and react rapidly to changing situations. None of your other classes, excepting Defensive Magic I suppose, teach you how to do this. In this class, you will become leaders and followers, and you will learn to give and receive orders. You will act quickly and decisively. This is a _real_ class. You will be graded, not only on your performance, but also on how well you play with your team members. Understood?"

There were nods.

"Good. Now, the rules of the game…"

Professor Adlersflügel removed the different balls from the chests, and explained their use and the different positions. It was all very complicated: three Chasers played with the red Quaffle to put it through one of three hoops guarded by the enemy Keeper, to score ten points. Two Beaters armed with clubs whacked flying cannonballs called Bludgers. Lastly, the Seeker on each team tried to catch a little golden ball with silver wings called the Snitch, to score one hundred fifty points.

Though Dieter had yet to actually play the game, he was already making preferences. The 'Beater' sounded like the most interesting position.

"The class will be divided into four teams," Professor Adlersflügel explained. Instantly, clumps of students gravitated towards each other to be with their friends, but the instructor put his hand up to signal a halt. "These teams will be selected _at random_. In Quidditch, as in real life, you will find yourself working with strangers. You must get to know your teammates, and form a cohesive, effective unit. Any questions?"

Nobody raised their hands. Dieter was suddenly horror-struck at the possibilities of such a random selection – he had a twenty-five percent chance of winding up on the same team as a certain Slav…

The professor pulled out a small sack and pulled out a little piece of parchment. "The first player for Red Team is Natalya Degtyaryova." A diminutive Slavic girl walked out of the main body of students and stood where the professor pointed.

He pulled out another little slip of parchment. "For Yellow Team, we have Ernst Busch." When Ernst stepped forward, the professor muttered some spell and turned his crimson school robes canary yellow.

Dieter had his fingers crossed, hoping that whatever team he wound up in would have Konrad in it and not Karkaroff.

Neither happened. Dieter was placed into Red Team, and Konrad to Blue. Karkaroff ended up in Green Team, and his large Slavic friend, Todorov, was placed in Yellow with Ernst. The large Untermensch gave Ernst an ugly look, and the Muggle-born turned a little pale.

"And the last player for Red Team is Gerta Roth."

Dieter groaned. Though having Gerta on the same team was preferable to Karkaroff, the girl was… annoying.

And so the students were sorted, and had the colour of their robes appropriately altered. Professor Adlersflügel put the little sack of names back into his robes and announced, "Now that you are in your teams, you must make your introductions, determine who will play each position, decide on a team name, and choose a captain. You have five minutes."

Dieter turned to his teammates. Gerta he already knew from the beginning of the school term – the novelty of annoying him for whatever strange, deviant reasons of hers had worn off over the last few weeks, but Dieter was nevertheless not thrilled by the prospect of being in a team with her. Another familiar face was Heinrich Fuerst, the slightly self-absorbed Pure-blood boy who would tell anyone who'd listen everything about his prized broomstick, which he was so unfairly not allowed to ride in class. But for the other four players, Dieter did not know them.

They made their introductions. There were two female Slavs, and Dieter quickly forgot their names. One was quite short and had very light blonde hair tied up in a bun. The other was taller, had a round face, and long wavy brown hair. Rounding up the total number of girls in the team to four was Frieda Knickerbacker, who Dieter suddenly recognised as one of Gerta's annoying friends. The last teammate was, curiously enough, a Spaniard named Alfonso Panza.

Dieter knew Falangist Spain was close to Germany since they had received the Reich's aid during their civil war against the communists, but the presence of Latins at Durmstrang surprised him. Yet _another_ race added to the school's genetic mix? They weren't Aryans, but at least they were European and human, which was more than the Slavs could say.

They stated their position preferences, and Dieter without hesitation declared that he wished to be a Beater. There were conflicts of interest, however. Both Frieda and the small Slav girl wanted to be Seeker, and each argued that they had been flying longer than the other.

Heinrich stepped in. "Look, no offence, but I know more about Quidditch than any of you here. I think you'd make a better Seeker, Natalya."

Dieter rounded on him. "Why did you pick her over Frieda?" he demanded. As much as he didn't like any of the girls, he wouldn't see an Untermensch's wishes override an Aryan's.

Heinrich explained, "Simple. She's small. Seekers should be as light and fast as possible, to be a hard target to hit and to get the Snitch before the opposing team."

Dieter couldn't argue with that, but… "Do you think she is even _capable_ of catching the Snitch? She might not know how."

The little Slav girl scowled, and Heinrich ignored Dieter's comment. In the end, Dieter and Alfonso the Latin became Beaters, Heinrich the Keeper, the small Slav girl the Seeker, and Gerta, Frieda, and the other Slav girl the Chasers.

"And I'll be team captain," Heinrich announced, prompting another argument with Dieter.

"No, I should be captain. _I'm_ the most experienced leader in this team. I was in the Deutsches Jungvolk back home, and have been awarded medals for leadership and good conduct!"

That did not have the desired effect of swaying opinions in favour of himself, as nobody else in his team had even heard of the Deutsches Jungvolk.

"How about we take a vote?" Heinrich suggested.

Frieda voted for Dieter because he had supported her bid for Seeker, and so did Gerta. "Oooh, you should be captain Dieter," Gerta said. "That means you're obligated to protect me from the Bludgers!"

He was outvoted, and his only supporters were the two annoying girls. All the other team members choose Heinrich. "Now, a team name?" the newly elected leader asked.

Dieter suggested _'The Red Barons,'_ and when that was shot down, he offered _ 'Jasta 11'_ and _'Jagdgeschwader 1,'_ which met similar fates. Nobody understood the Great War reference.

They decided on _'The Flying Tigers,'_ which was a pretty stupid name, Dieter thought. Tigers couldn't _fly_.

They were given equipment once the teams had sorted themselves out. Dieters' misgivings about his team dissipated somewhat when he received a short, heavy, metal-reinforced club. He hefted its authoritative weight, and decided already that Quidditch was a sport he would like very much. Any game featuring clubs and flying cannonballs had to be good.

_Now, am I only allowed to hit 'Bludgers' with this thing, or can I whack people too?_ Dieter wondered, with a particular victim in mind…

The class practiced for the rest of the period, with each player trying to get attuned to their positions. Using the bat one-handed was manageable, but Dieter didn't think he could deliver enough power or accuracy that way. Unfortunately, the alternative of swinging the club with both hands was proving to be almost impossible. Dieter was still not fully adept at flying, and didn't feel confident enough to fly without holding onto the Volksbesen's shaft, much less risk losing his balance trying to hit things with a two-handed swing.

He sparred with a slower, lighter practice Bludger, but it still proved to be a formidable opponent. Dieter found himself forced to dodge the ball rather than beat it back, which sort of defeated the purpose of his position.

Predictably, Karkaroff noticed his troubles at one point. He brought it to the attention of his other Slavic crony, and the two of them periodically zoomed past Dieter, jeering. Ernst, Dieter was embarrassed to admit, was a much better flier, but he too was on the receiving end of the Slavs' taunting.

"You call that hitting a Bludger?" Karkaroff mocked while flying by. "My house elf is a better Beater than you!"

His friend Todorov, who still did not have the greatest command of the German language, simply echoed, "Yeah, house elf!"

Dieter wished very much to hit Karkaroff with his new Beater's bat, but that would probably earn him a detention. The last one had been an unpleasant affair, and Dieter wasn't in the mood to have a repeat of the experience. He couldn't attack him in their dormitory either, because the Slav would just report him like he did last time.

He decided to ignore Karkaroff for the rest of the class. He assured himself that Karkaroff would get his comeuppance sometime, but just not in the middle of Quidditch instruction while Professor Adlersflügel was watching. Dieter thus vented his frustrations by imagining the pratice Bludger to be Karkaroff's thin, stupid face. It certainly helped him focus.

The practice Bludger charged again, aiming straight for Dieter's chest. He wiggled his feet to check that they were secured in the footrests, and he tightened his grip on the bat with both of his hands. The flying magic cannonball covered distance disconcertingly quickly, but after being on the receiving end of some twenty or thirty (he had lost count) strikes since the beginning of class, Dieter had become a bit more familiar with the Bludger's speed and capabilities.

Fifteen metres… ten metres… _five metres_…

Dieter swerved to the left and poised his bat above his right shoulder for a swing – he had discovered that it was next to impossible to hit the pratice Bludger coming head-on towards the chest, as there was no way to deliver a good stroke. Therefore, he had to position himself to the side, but timing was crucial – swerve too early and the practice Bludger would correct its course, or swerve too late and get hit by the ball.

He rotated his body as he swung with both hands. Wood crashed with iron–

_CRACK!_

The shock jolted up Dieter's arms, and the spasm in his fingers made him almost drop the Beater's Bat. Hitting a Bludger directly _hurt!_

But when he looked up, he saw the practice Bludger spinning away – a sight that lifted his spirits considerably. "Ha! Take that!" he called to the retreating cannonball. _That'll show Karkar_–

Dieter didn't complete the thought. He was interrupted by the sudden acquaintance of a large, solid iron ball with the back of his skull. His body and head were snapped forward and down, knocking his face into the Volksbesen's shaft.

The broom's flight performance then mimicked that of a brick. It dropped, and only reached a stable atlitude of three metres above the ground once Dieter had recovered enough wits to hold onto his broom with his hands.

He brought the broom down to the grass and promptly fell off. The pain in his head was excruciating. His nose and lip felt sticky. His vision was blurry, and there was a piercing ringing in his ears – but through that Dieter heard something that sounded distinctly like laughter.

"Owwww," he moaned.

Footsteps, then two feet appeared in front of Dieter's face. There was a murmured spell, and a voice: "Here, take this." Strong hands pushed his head back, and a bitter-tasting liquid entered his mouth.

Dieter coughed and sputtered, but suddenly the pain went away to be replaced by a slight feeling of numbness and dizziness. His face didn't feel sticky anymore either. He staggered to his feet, and was greeted by the sight of Professor Adlersflügel standing in front of him.

"Feeling better?" the instructor asked.

Dieter didn't answer. "Who was it?" he demanded, though he already had a likely culprit in mind.

Adlersflügel jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a large boy in yellow robes, who was flying closeby to a figure in green. "Aleksandr Todorov," the professor answered. "Now get back on your broom."

He didn't. "But, what about Todorov?" Dieter asked.

"What about him?" the flying instructor said gruffly.

"He hit me with that Bludger!" the Dieter protested, pointing at the Slav in the air.

Professor Adlersflügel's eyes narrowed. "Of course he did. That's what a Beater's supposed to do. So get back on your broom and hit him back."

The first-year was taken aback – it sounded too good to be true. Then it suddenly occurred to him what that exactly meant. With excitement: "Really?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You're not going to win many matches if you come running to me every time they hit you with something. Now get out of my face. Go."

Dieter snapped a salute: "Delighted to, sir!" Still slightly disoriented from the blow to his head and the potion, he stumbled back onto his broom and had a very wobbly takeoff.

But his mind was clear. He grinned like a wolf as he shot off, bat in hand.

Dieter had decided that Quidditch was the best sport in the world.

* * *

* "All targets have been eliminated, Storm troop leader."

"Very good. Give the all clear. We disapparate to headquarters in three… two… one… NOW!"


	14. Duelle

I hope this chapter mollifies the lynch mob. So sorry for the delay! But enough of my grovelling. Enjoy the chapter!

~ _Pseudonym Sam_

* * *

**Chapter XIV: Duelle**

"Now, please don't stress yourself too much, Master Heydrich, and don't get into any more trouble. I don't want to see you here again for at least another week!"

With those kind words, Fraüline Fertig shooed Dieter out of the Infirmary. He gingerly lifted himself out of the bed and tried very hard to not move his right arm – it hurt whenever he moved it too much. His bones had been mended after a shattering blow from a Bludger the previous day, but the nurse insisted that it remain in a sling. His recovery was quite remarkable. Ordinarily, such an injury would have incapacitated his arm for months while the bones healed, but with magic it was fixed within a day.

Karkaroff had come off worse. His face was bloated and purple, and his body a mass of casts and bandages. Dieter gave him a sarcastic wave and smile as he left the Infirmary. Even with his face numb and frozen in place, the Slav still managed to glare.

Dieter left the Infirmary for the third time in two weeks. Ever since Professor Adlersflügel had made the switch to teaching Quidditch, flying class had become a convenient battleground. While ostensibly 'practicing', Dieter and his nemeses were seizing upon the outstanding opportunity to inflict as many debilitating injuries on each other as possible. Since Karkaroff played Seeker, he was an irresistible and almost defenceless target, and he had to be defended by his other Slav friend, Todorov.

Dieter's friends on the other hand, stayed out of it, or at least tried to. Ernst regarded the whole situation with horror, but also being Muggle-born, he too was occasional harassed by the Slavic duo. He always tried to stay clear of trouble, but Dieter relished being able to strike back and do some harassing of his own.

Due to his stay in the Infirmary, he was late to History of Magic that day. Dieter entered the classroom and was welcomed warmly by Professor Simonov. "Heydrich! You are late, damn it. Ten points off your next assignment. Now sit down."

Fuming, Dieter took his seat. Barely a moment later, Simonov barked at him again. "Heydrich! For what are the ancient Suebi tribe best known?"

He didn't know the answer. It was terribly unfair for him to be called on, having missed the beginning of class owing to his injury, but the Slavic professor did not accept any excuses. "I don't know, sir," Dieter answered.

"So what, you didn't at least make up for your lateness by coming to class prepared? Another ten points off your assignment; that's now a zero. You still have to do it, or else I'll give you a negative score."

Dieter knew that threat was very real. A number of students had received negative points, and Dieter did not want to be among them. He wanted to think of every possible way to get revenge on Simonov, but concentrating on the lecture was a much better use of the time. Plotting was for later.

So he wrote, awkwardly and sloppily with his right hand feeling stiff and his arm still in the sling. He would have to borrow Ernst's or Konrad's notes later.

* * *

September ended, and so did any semblance of good weather. Older students had advised the first-years to enjoy the grounds as much as possible while they could early on, but Dieter and many others had been slow to heed these suggestions.

Cold winds blew in from the north and east, and slowly increased in strength as the days and weeks passed. It started as a nuisance, but it was increasingly becoming unbearable. Quidditch class turned into a battle against the elements as much as it was one against Karkaroff and Todorov.

"Yes, I realize it's little windy," Professor Adlersflügel addressed the complaining class. "But that's how you play Quidditch. No match has ever been cancelled due to bad weather. Consider this good practice for worse to come."

Nobody was encouraged by these words. At least the flying instructor handed out goggles and taught everyone some useful spells to stay warm and prevent windchill. Dieter found himself too busy trying to avoid getting blown off course to pick a fight with the Slavs.

But he could still find some academically sanctioned scraps within the shelter of the castle. After more than a month of practising aim and wand movements, Defensive Magic class took a very interesting and exciting turn.

"Before you can learn how to defend yourself, you must first know how to attack," Professor Schmidt said. "Since you cannot rely on defensive spells to ensure your safety, you must instead evade your opponent's attacks and reply with attacks of your own. Learning how to dodge spells and fight back is one of the most important skills you will learn in this class, and there is no better way to practice than by duelling your peers."

The room was filled with generally excited murmurs. Dieter and Konrad grinned, but Ernst looked less than pleased. He didn't like fighting.

One girl raised her hand. "Are we going to be duelling everybody?"

The Defensive Magic instructor shook his head. "As much as I would like to, the answer is no. If everyone was to duel everyone else just once, there will have to be three hundred fifty-four separate duels during this class and the next, if my arithmetic is correct. Instead, we will make things interesting by having a competition. You will be marked on your performance, and the champion will be awarded ten bonus points and a jar of Zuckerzahn's Exploding Bonbons."

"All right!" Konrad said enthusiastically. He cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together.

"What are Exploding Bonbons?" Dieter asked. His Pure-blood friend explained that they were a peppermint sweet that sparked when chewed on, or exploded when thrown against something hard.

"Doesn't that sound a bit dangerous?" Ernst commented. "I don't see why anyone would want to eat them."

Konrad did his best to look scandalized. "How could you _not_ want to eat exploding sweets? There is something seriously wrong–"

"Konrad, please," said Professor Schmidt, raising his voice a little. The room fell silent, and Dieter's friend turned a little red. "Thank you. If you look at the chalkboard, you will see how I have organised the duels. The class will be split into seven random groups of four. Everybody in each group will duel one another, making six duels for each group. The two students who win the most duels out of each group will move on to the next round."

He flicked his wand at the board and names appeared in a large diagram. "Some of you might have noticed that this won't result in a proper round of sixteen duellists, so I will pick an additional two students who performed well. Now, I would like everyone to come look at the board, see what group you are in, and sort yourselves out."

Dieter was in Group G, along with Heinrich Fuerst and another boy and a girl he didn't really know, respectively named Tyr Baumer and Magda Steiger. Dieter measured up his opponents. Heinrich liked to brag about his racing broom and Quidditch exploits, but for all of his boasting he was rather good at Keeping. Of course, that said nothing about his ability to duel. The other two students, while of unknown quality, looked reasonably fit, but Dieter wasn't counting on the girl doing well.

He could not make any good predictions. Unlike physical strength, there was no way to gauge magical aptitude at a glance.

"We have forty-two duels to go through this class, so let's do this in a quick and orderly fashion. There will only be one match occurring at a time, so the rest of you are free to watch or practice while you wait."

He then explained the rules, which were simple. There were no restrictions on what attacks could or could not be used, provided they were non-lethal. Whoever scored the greatest number of hits against his or her opponent within two and a half minutes would be declared the winner, and earn three points. In case of a draw, each player would earn one point. Losing, of course, merited no points at all.

After answering questions, the duels began. "First from Group A, we have Sigrid Knochen and Alfonso Panza," announced the professor. Dieter didn't know the girl, but the Spaniard was a team member in Quidditch class and a nice enough fellow.

Both students took their positions at opposite sides of the classroom and bowed. At the end of Professor Schmidt's countdown, hexes immediately started zipping across the room. The first few volleys passed by each player harmlessly, but it was the Spaniard who scored the first hit. The girl yelped from the small shock, and a second Stinging Hex struck her. She only managed to hit Alfonso back once, and whatever concentration she had vanished after being struck a third time. The two and a half minutes were soon up, and the duel ended with Alfonso winning with six hits to one. He bowed and expertly twirled his wand in his fingers. Professor Schmidt noted the score on his parchment.

Over the course of many duels, cries of _"Mordax!"_ resounded throughout the room. Professor Schmidt believed it was more important to teach technique and accuracy rather than a variety of spells at such an early stage, so the simple Stinging Hex reigned supreme. Nevertheless, the duels were exciting to watch. Some matches were completely one-sided affairs, when some students completely overpowered their opponents and received few or no hits in return. Others were more even slugging matches, with each student trading a roughly equal number of blows. Many different styles were also being displayed. Some preferred to take time with their aim, whereas others tried to fling as many hexes as possible, often with poor accuracy. Smarter students kinked and dodged, while most others were concentrating too hard on their spellwork to remember to move around, making them easy, immobile targets.

Dieter took special notice of the good duellists who could become potential adversaries in the next round. Alfonso was accurate and skilled, as was some other boy Dieter didn't know. Todorov didn't have the best aim, but he was so thickly built and seemingly nerveless that he didn't even feel the stinging spells that would have wrecked the concentration of normal humans. Annoyingly, Gerta Roth was a surprisingly good duellist, for she was very agile and hard to hit.

Konrad went up in Group C, and Dieter gave him a thumbs up gesture and wished him luck. The duel started.

"_Mordax!Mordax!Auristorqueo!Mordax!Risus!_Arghwhycan'tIhityou?" Konrad cried, spitting out hexes left and right. Apparently, he was a follower of the _Overwhelming Random Firepower_ school of thought. Not one spell in ten hit his opponent, Helmut Müller, but it had the desired effect. Helmut was concentrating very hard on dodging the endless barrage of red jets of light, and couldn't retaliate as effectively as he wished. Unfortunately, his attacks still managed to equal the hits received, so the duel ended in a draw.

Konrad drew in his second duel, too. With only two points to his name, his chances of moving to the round of sixteen were not good, but he finally faced off against an opponent worse than he in his third and last duel. He defeated Frieda Knickerbacker three to one and by a hair's breadth advanced to the next level.

Ernst's style could not have been more different from Konrad's. Ernst always did his homework with diligence and precision, and his defence technique was no different. Almost like an eighteenth-century gentleman duelling with pistols, he stood up straight and still, and sent very carefully aimed spells hurtling towards his opponent. He would have been a formidable duellist had he remembered to move, but since he hadn't, he was an attractive, completely stationary target. He got hit by a few stingers, and being of very slim build, he really felt each one. Visibly wincing from each blow, Ernst's composure deteriorated and his hexes started going wide. He lost the duel. His next duel played out quite similarly, but he managed to force a draw. Unfortunately, his last duel was a loss and he did not have enough points to advance to the next round.

Eventually, Karkaroff was up. Dieter had a very low opinion of the Slav's ability to defend himself, owing to the injuries he had received in Quidditch class brawls, and from all the way back to their first day when Dieter had punched him in the face. The duel would be thrilling to watch, and Dieter was giddy at the prospect of Karkaroff being thoroughly beaten.

Hexes flew, and Dieter watched Karkaroff's every move very carefully. True to Dieter's predictions, he was a terrible fighter. He dodged far too much. His wand movements were too jerky. He hurled spells too quickly. He hit his enemy far too often...

To Dieter's complete surprise, Karkaroff won. _It had to be luck, and besides, his opponent was terrible,_ Dieter reasoned, but Karkaroff easily defeated his second opponent in his next duel. How did that happen? It made no sense. Dieter could plainly see that Karkaroff was not very good, but the Slav inexplicably won his third duel and advanced to the round of sixteen.

"Wow. Karkaroff's pretty good," Konrad said once the Slav's duels were over.

"What are you talking about?" Dieter retorted. "He's awful. He only won because all of his opponents were worse."

Konrad said nothing and merely gave Dieter a funny look.

Being in Group G, Dieter was among the last competitors. He was first paired with the girl, Magda Steiger, and suddenly recognised her as the girl who had trouble climbing up the ratlines on the side of _Die Seeschlange_ on the first day of school. Dieter smiled, visibly more confident, while his opponent appeared anything but.

The duel began. Dieter's first stinger went wide to the right, but he quickly corrected his aim and hit her in the centre of the chest on his second try. She squeaked, and her hex went so far off that it smacked into the ceiling. From then on, it was a simple matter of delivering a steady stream of carefully aimed hexes, and with each hit Magda's defences disintegrated. After his ninth successful attack, she stopped trying to fight back altogether and spent the remainder of the duel just trying to avoid his spells. Professor Schmidt ended the duel at the two and a half minute mark, and Dieter won, thirteen to zero.

Dieter pumped his fist up into the air in triumph and he grinned like a maniac. Duelling was _fun_. Plus, he was pretty good at it. Sure, he had only faced off against a totally inadequate opponent, but his victory buoyed him nonetheless.

Heinrich spared with Tyr Baumer, and while both were reasonably good, Tyr won narrowly. Dieter then faced off against the victor of that duel. He was a much better opponent than Magda, and he knew something about dodging. He was moving far too much for Dieter to fix his aim, but he did manage to hit his opponent a couple of times. Fortunately, constant movement did not help Tyr's accuracy, so Dieter ended up winning the duel.

It wasn't long before he fought his third and final duel of the class, against Heinrich. Dieter aimed for the other boy's face. The spell missed, of course, but it succeeded in forcing Heinrich to dodge to the side, putting himself right in the path of Dieter's second stinger, which struck. Dieter soon realised that a large part duelling was anticipating which direction his opponent would dodge, and sending a spell in that direction immediately following his first attack. In this way, he could 'herd' his opponent and almost guarantee a hit! Heinrich could either stand still and get hit by the first spell, or move to the side and get hit by the second spell. Just when Dieter was feeling really clever, Heinrich disproved his newfound theory of wand combat by pioneering the technique of ducking.

Dieter henceforth decided not to bother doing anything fancy, and just aim for the centre of Heinrich's chest. Both students scored some hits on the other, but it was Dieter who won, six to four, when Professor Schmidt called time. Dieter bowed, but the expression on his face was far from stoic. He could hardly contain his glee. He had just won three duels in a row. He was _good!_ In fact, he was convinced that he was the best fighter in the class.

"That's all of the duels for today," Professor Schmidt announced. "Everyone who made it to the next round will compete on Monday, so be sure to get plenty of practice over the weekend. For those who didn't, well, you should still practice over the weekend. Class dismissed."

Dieter and Konrad did exactly that with great enthusiasm. They rushed through their Potions and History of Magic homework, threw their bookbags back into their room, and prepared to leave their common room for outside.

"Coming, Ernst?" Konrad asked.

The other boy wanted to do a thorough job with his five hundred-word essay on Armin son of Segimer of the Cherusker, so he shook his head. "Sorry, I have other things to do. Have fun."

"Hmpf. His loss…" Dieter muttered. Ernst was a good friend and roommate when it came to helping with Charms and Transfiguration, but that exhausted his virtues, Dieter thought cynically. Ernst was probably the least outgoing boy Dieter had ever met. How could someone be so unadventurous? How could someone not want to have fun and prepare for class at the same time?

Ernst was just _weird_.

* * *

Dieter knew that he was the best student in Defensive Magic class. The duels in Thursday's class were clear evidence of that. But Dieter needed to _prove_ he was better than everyone else, and do it in front of everyone else. And nobody was the best, or stayed the best, by being complacent.

He practiced Defensive Magic with Konrad all weekend. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his duelling that he barely gave the _Wahrheit_'s October seventh headline announcing the end of the war in Poland a second glance.

While not exhausting himself training for the next round of duels on Monday, Dieter read through the book on hexes and jinxes he had borrowed from the library. To his disappointment, most of the spells were comedic in nature. How could he inflict any serious damage on an opponent (Karkaroff, by default) with a Slug Hex? Or a Twitchy Ears Hex?

He flipped through the book irritably, looking for something useful. _Tarantallegra_ could be handy in a duel by unbalancing an enemy, but Dieter ruled it out for having too many syllables in the incantation.

The door to the First Years' common room creaked open, and Dieter didn't look up. Unfortunately, he couldn't fail to notice Ernst collapse into the chair right next to him.

He looked awful. He was shivering. His hair was unkempt and was full of twigs and leaves. Several angry purple bruises were splotched across his face and whatever exposed limbs Dieter could see, which was surprisingly a lot, since Ernst's robes were torn.

Dieter's first impulse was to ask Ernst why he didn't go to the Infirmary first, but he sensibly said instead, "What in the world happened to you?"

"I fell," Ernst answered flatly.

"You _fell?_" Konrad said sceptically. "What did you do, fall down the Cardiac Steps? All 1135 of them?"

Ernst winced. "Only five hundred."

"What were you doing outside?" asked Konrad.

"It's Sunday. I needed to go out and pray–"

"In _this_ weather?"

Dieter wasn't paying attention to their conversation. He was too preoccupied with looking at Ernst's bruises. _How could you be so clumsy to fall down so many stairs?_ he thought. It was inconceivable that anybody could fall down so far and not get hung up on a tree or come to a rest at one of the shallower sections of the slope. It was almost as if someone had to push him a couple times to keep him rolling.

Dieter quickly stood up and looked around the room, eyes narrowed. His suspicions were confirmed.

"Karkaroff," he spat.

"What? _OH…_" Konrad said. He too scanned Ernst's injuries. "Did Karkaroff do this to you?"

"No. I told you, I fell down the stairs," Ernst insisted.

Dieter didn't believe him. "It was Karkaroff. He pushed you," he said, convinced. "Wasn't it?"

"They didn't do anything. I fell down the stairs–"

"Ernst," Konrad interrupted, looking straight into the other boy's eyes. "We're your friends. You don't have to lie to us. Please, tell us what happened."

Ernst sighed. "Yes, it was Karkaroff. And Todorov," he finally admitted. "They found me outside and used some spell to push me down the slope."

"Good," Dieter said, satisfied that Ernst had given a straight answer at last. "That settles it. Let's go."

He made to get up, but Ernst, in surprising act of nerve, grabbed his arm. "Don't do this," he said. "It's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Dieter asked incredulously. "Do you want them to just get away with this?"

"It doesn't matter, and it's not worth getting in trouble over. They had their fun, but soon enough they'll get bored of picking on me and they'll stop." Ernst sounded like he spoke from experience.

"Where did you get that stupid idea?" said Dieter. People were supposed to _confront_ their enemies, not just sit and take it. Didn't the boy learn _anything_ in the Deutsches Jungvolk?

Ernst answered, "Haven't you heard of turning the other cheek?"

"And we all know how well Jesus fared with that," Dieter shot back. "And here's something else you might have heard. That's 'God helps those who helps themselves.'"

"That's not scripture–"

"Doesn't matter!" Dieter insisted. "If you're hoping the Lord is going to help you, you're not going to get it by feeling sorry for yourself. You need to fight back. That's what _Germans_ do. And don't you forget that, Ernst. You are German – you're worth twelve of any of those Slavs. Heck, you're worth a hundred of them!"

There was a pause as Ernst took that in. Finally, he sighed, "All right, go ahead. And thank you."

"Now, I suggest you go to the Infirmary and get yourself patched up. We'll take care of Karkaroff. Coming, Konrad?"

Konrad nodded. "Let's go," Dieter said. Anger swelled inside him. Ernst was not a very exciting individual, and he was only a lukewarm National Socialist at best, but he was _German_. He was a comrade, and he had been victimised by the Slavic subhumans just on account of his birth, for being Muggle-born.

Karkaroff and his empty-headed gorilla of a friend needed to be punished. And if Ernst wouldn't defend himself, then Dieter would gladly take up that responsibility. He unsheathed his wand and made for the door.

"Karkaroff has a good Leg-Locker curse. Be careful," Ernst called out after them.

They checked the corridors on the four floors and the Slavs weren't there. Neither were they in the Great Hall. After some twenty minutes of searching, Dieter and Konrad found Karkaroff and Todorov at a desk on the bottom floor of the library.

"We can't attack them here," Konrad whispered. "There are too many people."

Dieter had to agree, part of him screamed at the wasted opportunity. There were so many elevated walkways that would have provided perfect vantage points for an ambush, and it was a shame to not use them.

They agreed to attack them as they left the library, so they hid themselves in a convenient corner besides the door. Unfortunately, they had no idea how long the Slavs would spend reading, and they ended up waiting for half an hour before Karkaroff and Todorov walked out the entrance.

Dieter was halfway through telling Konrad a joke to pass the time, but the punch line would have to wait. Wands at the ready, the two boys followed the Slavs as quietly as they could, and hoped the Slavs wouldn't think to look backwards.

They didn't. Karkaroff and Todorov were chatting to each other in what sounded like Russian, completely unaware of the impending ambush. They reached the top of one of Durmstrang's steeper staircases, and that was when Dieter and Konrad made their move.

Two Trip Jinxes tugged at the Slavs' ankles. The spells would have been stronger with more practice, but they were just strong enough to make their targets lose their balance and topple over. Karkaroff just barely brought his arms up to shield his face, but he smacked against the stairs and tumbled twenty steps to the bottom. The larger Todorov hit his head on the banister and landed on top of Karkaroff, dazed. Both of their bags had spilled their contents, and the staircase was a mess of scattered books, parchments, quills, smashed bottles, and sticky ink. Bystanders yelled as they tried to get out of the way, but some sported black stains on their robes.

Dieter and Konrad advanced on the two Slavs struggling to get up at the base of the staircase. Trusting physical assault over his beginner's wandwork, Dieter picked up one of the enemy's ink-drenched books and threw it. He aimed for Karkaroff's face, but it went low and struck him in the chest instead.

A red spell, probably a Stinger, missed Dieter's forehead by centimetres. Dieter promptly sent back a few Stingers of his own, and he shouted in triumph as they scored direct hits. His targets, still reeling from the shock of the surprise attack, barely managed to respond with half the number of spells, and with far less accuracy.

Just when he was about to launch another strike at Karkaroff's face, Dieter's arms and legs unexpectedly locked together, and he fell backwards, stiff and straight as a board. He hit the ground with an audible thud. A second thud announced Konrad meeting the same fate.

Professor Schmidt appeared into view and rushed down the staircase. Dieter couldn't see what he was doing, but he heard the Defensive Magic professor say, "It doesn't look too bad. Head along to the Infirmary, and Fräuline Fertig should get you patched up… Don't worry, Aleksandr, I'm sure she'll find a way to un-twitch your ears… The rest of you, there is nothing to see here,. Please be on your way…"

Schmidt returned and undid the Petrifying spells, and the boys quickly stood up. "I saw you from my office, you know. It was very foolish of you to pull off that ambush right in front of me," the Professor said, amused.

For a moment, Dieter wanted to look around for any kind of window where the office could be, but he decided that it would be much better to pay attention when spoken to, especially when being disciplined.

"I'm going to have to give you both detentions, for attacking Masters Karkaroff and Todorov without provocation."

Konrad blurted out, "But it was provoked. They pushed Ernst down the mountain!"

"And I'll be investigating that. But regardless, you were still caught duelling in the corridors, which is against Durmstrang rules. You must still report for detention. Meet me at my office on Saturday, at seven o'clock."

"Yes, sir," Dieter and Konrad said numbly.

"And one other thing," Professor Schmidt leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I'm giving you each five extra credit points for an excellent ambush. You used the terrain quite effectively."

"What?" Dieter said, surprised.

"Just because you broke the rules doesn't mean I don't recognise a good attack when I see one. But it would have been better if nobody saw it. Now, don't let me catch you attacking anyone outside of class ever again. Do I make myself clear?"

They nodded vigorously.

"Good. Enjoy the rest of your day." Professor Schmidt walked away and disappeared around a corner. Dieter and Konrad stood where they were, still slightly in shock and confused.

* * *

It was Monday. Dieter could hardly contain his anticipation. It was the second day in the Defensive Magic class duelling competition, and he knew that he would be the champion in a short hour and a half.

"Good afternoon, class," Professor Schmidt greeted on Monday. "Today we finish off our duelling competition, so I hope those of you who advanced to the round of sixteen got plenty of practice over the weekend."

Dieter noticed the Professor glance in his direction as he said that.

"Now that we are playing for the championship, the rules for the competition will be slightly different. Each student will now have five minutes in which to duel. The winner is whoever forces his or her opponent to concede; otherwise, victory goes to whoever scores the most hits as usual."

After a pause for questions, Professor Schmidt waved his wand and a chart appeared on the chalkboard. Dieter studied it, and was amused by the choice of his first opponent. Gerta would be a pushover, and when Dieter defeated her (the possibility of losing never occurred to him), he would face either Todorov or some Polish boy named Marek Kozlowski. Of the two non-Aryans, Dieter wanted Todorov to win, just so he could have his chance to humiliate Karkaroff's friend in front of everybody.

The duels began, and they played out quite similarly to the ones in the last class. Simple Stingers flew back and forth, only this time with a bit more accuracy, since almost all of the poor shots had been eliminated in the previous round.

It wasn't long before it was Dieter's turn to duel. "Good luck," Ernst and Konrad said to him as he faced his opponent.

Gerta waved and smiled at him from the opposite side of the room. "Hi Dieter," she said sweetly. "Just remember that you have to be a proper gentleman and let the lady win."

Dieter smiled back as sarcastically as he could manage and bowed. Gerta curtsied and the two of them took up their favoured fighting stances.

The duel began at Professor Schmidt's mark. Dieter shot out a quick Stinger, but he was surprised by the speed of Gerta's reaction time. She dodged to the side and Dieter's spell passed harmlessly, and Gerta retaliated with her own Stinger. It buzzed by Dieter's left ear, all too close for comfort. Dieter didn't have time to contemplate whether that near miss was due to luck or any skill on Gerta's part.

_"Mordax! Mordax!"_ the two combatants shouted. Many jets of red light flew back and forth, but both students were good enough at dodging to avoid getting hit too often.

_"Pilosus!"_ yelled Gerta, and a thin blue jet shot out of her wand. It was no spell Dieter recognised. He dodged the first one, but the second spell hit Dieter on his left forearm.

He didn't feel any pain, or numbness, or indeed anything unusual at all, so he ignored it and kept throwing Stingers at Gerta. He got lucky and scored a hit on the middle of her face. Her hands involuntarily flew up to shield her head from further damage, and that was the window of opportunity Dieter needed. Ignoring the numbness and stinging where he had been hit, he rushed forward to close the distance and pelted her with spell after spell, and she couldn't respond in kind. A well-placed Trip Jinx sent her to the ground.

"Okay, okay! Stop it! You won!" she yelled, ending a one-sided exchange. Dieter helped her back onto her feet with his free hand. Gerta, whose face was still red and puffy, unexpectedly smiled quite maniacally.

"What?" Dieter asked, suspicious. Gerta didn't answer, and he didn't like the look on her face at all. He looked down at his arm and noticed thick, curly hairs growing on his hand. Lifting his sleeve, he noticed that they were spreading up his arm and they had probably reached his shoulder, judging by the itchy feeling there.

"Hey! What did you do?"

Gerta and her friends burst into hysterical giggles. With the girls unable to answer, Professor Schmidt explained that she had hit him with a hair-growing jinx. For the most part it was only good for practical jokes, but a hair-grower aimed at the head would make the victims' eyebrows grow out of control, obscuring his vision.

"Great. Can you help me, sir?" Dieter asked, acutely aware of the hairs growing on his neck and creeping up his chin.

Schmidt effortlessly undid the jinx with a _"Finite"_. Dieter made a mental note to remember that particular counter-spell.

Dieter watched the next duels intently, knowing he would have to fight some of the winners. In the Todorov-Kozlowski match, Karkaroff's large friend simply absorbed many spells to apparently little effect, allowing him to outlast his opponent in a battle of attrition. The Spanish boy was paired off with a Danish girl named Sille Lind. Both students were reasonably skilled, trading accurate fire and dodging competently, but Dieter was surprised when the girl won. Even if Alfonso wasn't an Aryan, any boy should be able to win against a girl by default.

Then it was Konrad's turn to face Karkaroff. "Good luck!" Dieter shouted to him. "Go get him!" Konrad returned a thumbs up and assumed his fighting position. Neither combatant bowed, and at Professor Schmidt's countdown, the duel began.

Konrad lost.

It was totally unbelievable. Dieter had every expectation that Konrad should win against Karkaroff. Why shouldn't he? Konrad was Aryan, and Karkaroff was an Untermensch. Konrad was brave, and Karkaroff was a coward. It made no sense, and Dieter did not want to believe what his eyes had seen.

Professor Schmidt undid the Leg-Locking Curse on Konrad, and he gingerly walked over to the side of the classroom where Dieter was watching. "Beat Karkaroff for me, will you? I want to share that jar of exploding Bon bons if you win."

Dieter merely nodded and did not answer in words. The duel between his friend and the Slav played and replayed in his mind. He remembered how Karkaroff had deftly defeated Konrad in merely a few, well executed blows. Where did Karkaroff's unexplained duelling skills come from? Hadn't Dieter been able to beat him up with some regularity in Flying and Quidditch class? How could a Slav have pulled off such a victory over a perfectly competent Aryan like Konrad?

Luck. That was the only answer. But Karkaroff's luck would soon run out. Dieter would make sure of that. His fists clenched at the thought.

He barely paid attention to the next several duels. His mind was furiously thinking of different ways to defeat Karkaroff in a thoroughly humiliating manner, once Dieter had a chance to duel him, of which he was certain.

Soon enough, it was Dieter's turn to face Todorov in the second round. The duel began, and Dieter took his time to carefully aim a Stinger at Todorov's face. It went low and hit him in the neck instead, but Dieter sent another spell in his enemy's direction. Todorov was slow to return fire. His wand movements were plodding and the concept of evasive manoeuvring was completely alien to him.

But he just stood there, taking everything Dieter threw at him. _What is he? Part troll?_ Dieter thought, amazed that not even two Stingers to the face could faze him. Since even a four to one hit ratio wouldn't defeat his opponent, Dieter decided to change tactics.

He tried a Trip Jinx, but it wasn't strong enough to topple the stout Slav. A Knockback Jinx was similarly ineffective. Dieter tried every non-standard spell he knew, but none seemed to have any effect. Unable to force a knockout, the duel lasted the entire five minutes, so it was decided purely on the number of hits achieved by each contestant. Dieter won, thirty-one to eight.

Dieter defeated the Danish girl, Sille, in the semi-finals. As if the fates had planned it all along, Karkaroff won each of his duels, ensuring that the two boys would face each other in the final. Dieter took a long, hard look at his opponent.

Why were Slavs dangerous? The answer came naturally from years of schooling. They were degenerate and they were filthy, and only slightly better than Jews, which wasn't saying much. They corrupted everything they touched. They were mindless sheep that flocked around their deceitful, brutish leaders. They revelled in thoughtless destruction, and plotted the ruination of the Germanic race.

And then Dieter realised what Karkaroff really was. He was no ordinary Slav – if he was, he wouldn't have made it past his first duel. Karkaroff was not a sheep, but a wolf. He was certainly aggressive enough. Hadn't he constantly harassed Dieter and attacked Ernst? And if Karkaroff was a wolf, then he was a potential strongman for a Slavic flock.

It was of utmost importance that Dieter win. He had to keep the Slav in his place. If he didn't, the results would be disastrous. Who knew what would happen if one Slav was allowed to have confidence in himself?

The two boys took their positions, and neither bowed. Professor Schmidt started the countdown. "On my mark. Three… two–"

_"Tarantallegra!"_ Karkaroff shouted. Unprepared for such treachery, Dieter hadn't moved out of the way in time, allowing the spell to graze his side. He mentally cursed himself for getting caught off guard. If there was anyone who would cheat, it would be Karkaroff.

His legs danced wildly on their own accord, and it was a miracle that Dieter didn't fall down. Then a whistle blew, and Professor Schmidt performed another _Finite_ on Dieter to stop his legs from dancing. He announced, "Now, we all know that we shouldn't let rules get in the way in a _real_ duel when your survival is at stake, but a fair test of your skills requires that you begin at the same moment. So we will start again…"

The restarted duel was a battle of fire and manoeuvre. Karkaroff, admittedly, was good at running and avoiding getting hit. Of course, that was because he was a coward, and it was in his blood. He did manage to get some lucky hits, though. A second _Tarantallegra!_ hit Dieter, and his tap-dancing feet conspired to ruin his accuracy. He tried cursing Karkaroff back, and failed, and several of Karkaroff's Stingers slammed into his chest and pushed him over.

Dieter braced his fall and jabbed his wand not at the Slav, but at his own legs. _"Finite!"_ he yelled in desperation, but his legs continued to dance. At least those flailing limbs intercepted some Stingers aimed for his chest, but that was small consolation.

He succeeded somewhat on his third try, after he corrected his pronunciation and swished and flicked instead of jabbed. His legs still twitched, but it was a considerable improvement, since it allowed him to stand. Knowing he was far behind in terms of hits, Dieter launched a furious barrage of Stingers to try to redress the balance. More than half of them missed, but it succeeded in putting Karkaroff on the defensive, giving Dieter enough time to perform another _Finite_ on himself to end the leg twitching.

Karkaroff tried a few more unconventional spells, while Dieter mostly relied on Stingers, figuring that the physical pain inflicted couldn't be undone like a Leg-Locker or _Tarantellegra_. Spell after spell stung Karkaroff, and Dieter was filled with fresh determination. Confident that he had evened out the duel after the Slav's first strike, he pressed his attack. He even took several steps forward to increase his chances of hitting the enemy. Dieter knew he could take more pain than the Slav, and he _knew_ that Karkaroff would break first if it came to a close-range Stinger battle.

More accurately, he _assumed_. He would not find vindication for his theory, because Karkaroff threw a spell that Dieter hadn't seen before.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ the Slav shouted. Having shortened the distance, Dieter didn't have the time nor space to avoid the bolt of red that streaked from the tip of Karkaroff's wand. Dieter felt some force yank on his wand and his hand involuntarily let go. He watched in horror as his ebony wand flipped end over end away from him. It landed with a clatter somewhere behind the enemy's feet.

Karkaroff shouted in triumph in his barbarian tongue, and something in Dieter snapped. Perhaps it was because he was sickened by the Slav's gleeful expression, or humiliated by having lost his weapon. Whatever it was, dismay quickly gave way to cold, savage rage. He ran full out, not towards his wand, but straight for Karkaroff.

"AAARRRGGGHH!" both boys screamed, one from fear, the other from fury. Two Stingers hit Dieter in the chest, but he neither felt them nor cared. He jumped and tackled the Slav down to the cold, hard floor. Dieter made a fist and slammed it into Karkaroff's nose. Something crunched, and bright red blood appeared from the Slav's nostrils. Dieter punched and punched again, but suddenly a long piece of wood was shoved in his face.

_"Mordax!"_ Karkaroff screamed. Dieter's cheeks took the full force of the spell. They felt like they were on fire. His vision turned blurry. The Slav managed to get back up to his feet, but Dieter lashed out with a kick that knocked him down again. After more punches and a brief grapple, Dieter trapped Karkaroff in a headlock he had learned and perfected in the Deutsches Jungvolk. The Slav's right arm was pinned behind his back, but he still held his wand and spells were flying in all directions–

"That's enough!" yelled a voice. In what was becoming a familiar sensation, Dieter's body turned as stiff and straight as a board, and his arms snapped to his side, releasing Karkaroff, who gasped for breath. Dieter thudded to the floor.

Professor Schmidt helped Karkaroff up and tended to his face. Only once the last of the blood was magicked off the Slav's face did Schmidt cautiously undo the petrifying spell on Dieter. Another spell removed most of the stinging and puffiness in his face.

Dieter scrambled to his feet on his own. Only then did he notice that all the other students were staring at him like he was some wild animal who could attack them at any moment. There were some hushed whispers, but Karkaroff quite audibly spat, "Get that _thing_ away from me and in a cage where it belongs!"

The instructor put his hand up. "Igor, please, that's quite enough." Turning to Dieter, he announced calmly, "I did not expect any of the duels to come to physical blows, but your unorthodox tactics were certainly effective." Karkaroff glared at the Professor.

Dieter felt proud of himself, but that only lasted a moment. Professor Schmidt continued, "Unfortunately, Muggle fighting is normally far from effective in a wizarding duel. An experienced opponent could have cast any number of spells at you while you ran headlong at him, and spells far more dangerous than the Stingers Igor hit you with. This class is supposed to teach you how to fight with magic; you can't rely on hand-to-hand combat."

"But I had lost my wand," Dieter reasoned. "How else was I supposed to fight back?"

"Good point."

"So… did I win?" Dieter asked hopefully.

Professor Schmidt considered Dieter and the Slav. "It's difficult to call. Dieter, your spellwork was precise and accurate, and your Muggle attacks were effective. But it was Igor who held the initiative throughout most of the duel. He forced you onto the defensive with clever spell choice, and ultimately disarmed you. Therefore, I must declare Master Igor Karkaroff the winner."

"What?" Dieter demanded. He could not believe it. "If you hadn't stopped me, Karkaroff would have given up! I was _this_ close to finishing him!"

"But I had to end the duel before you before you caused Igor serious injury, which you appeared very capable of doing," explained Schmidt. "I could not allow that in my class. And had this been a real duel, Dieter, you would have been long dead before you got close enough to even touch Igor."

"I want a rematch!" Dieter said.

"I'm sorry, Dieter. Igor won, and my decision is final."

* * *

_BANG!_ The next day, yet another small peppermint exploded near Dieter's feet. _BANG! BANG!_

"Whoops!" Karkaroff said, throwing another Exploding Bonbon at Dieter's feet while the first-years made their way to the Great Hall. During breakfast, Karkaroff gleefully fed on his duelling competition winnings, and made a point of sharing the sweets with everyone around him except Dieter and has friends.

"Just ignore him," Konrad said. "In fact, just let him gloat and everyone will see what a little troll he is."

Dieter wasn't comforted at all. He knew that jar of sweets and the ten bonus points should have been his. Professor Schmidt had cheated him out of a win. Why did the professor have to end the duel right before he defeated the Slav? It was terribly unfair and unjust. And his mind was full of dark thoughts as he went to Quidditch class.

"Sorry it's a bit windy today!" Professor Adlersflügel's magically amplified voice screamed through the howling wind. "But it could be worse – could be raining!"

It got worse. Dieter's thick fur Durmstrang coat kept out most of the cold, but his hands, feet, and face were numb and wet. The wind stung in Dieter's eyes, and it was a miracle he could see at all. He had no idea where the practice Bludger or his fellow team Beater had went.

A green shape flew by. Dieter whipped his head around, but whoever it was had disappeared in the rain. A minute later, the green team player zoomed past again, and Dieter caught a fleeting glimpse of a pointed face and black hair.

He urged his Volksbesen up, and he kept his eyes locked on Karkaroff, who appeared to be circling. _Probably looking for his practice Snitch_, Dieter thought. The Slav then headed away, and without thinking, Dieter dived after him. He needed revenge, and he was about to get it. Wind and rain droplets whipped his face as he dropped faster and faster in his dive, but he stayed locked on target.

Karkaroff didn't see him coming. Dieter's foot kicked out and connected with the back of his head, and the force of the impact smashed his face into his broom handle. Karkaroff lost control of his broom, and an icy blast of roaring wind and rain grabbed him and threw him out of sight.


	15. Schmerz

Thank you for waiting so patiently for this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this dramatic instalment!

No, I am not J.K. Rowling. Speaking of which, I have no idea how she would react if she were to read this story. Would she be freaked out?

Thanks to Molly (OliveOil_Med) and AidaLuthien for beta'ing this chapter. Also, more thanks to Molly for conceiving the character of Sille, though my interpretation of her has deviated a bit from the original.

Enjoy!

_~ Pseudonym Sam  
_

* * *

**Chapter XV: Schmerz**

"What are you so happy about?" Konrad asked miserably through chattering teeth. Quidditch class was over, and the three boys were on the ground reapplying the waterproofing spells on their coats before returning the castle for Potions.

"What?" Dieter hadn't realised that he was still grinning quite widely, which was unusual, considering that howling winds and numbingly cold rain together was not normally the kind of weather that buoyed spirits. "Oh, I'm just glad that class is over," he lied.

Neither Ernst nor Konrad contested that.

"Heydrich! Can you come here for a moment?" Professor Adlersflügel yelled. Dieter froze. The icy wind that had so far failed to affect Dieter suddenly struck with full force. _Did he see me attack Karkaroff?_ Dieter thought, mind racing and heart pounding. Nobody had seen him! He was sure of it. Or at least he had been. Had he?

As calmly as he could, Dieter walked back to the professor, and his friends dutifully waited. Dieter's expression betrayed worry, but the Quidditch instructor merely thought the boy was cold.

"Can you do me a favour?" Professor Adlersflügel asked unexpectedly. "I made a count of the students when undoing the colour-change charms at the end of class and came up one short. Can you make a count of the students in your Potion's class and come back and tell me your total? I need to know whether somebody just forgot to check in or is genuinely missing."

"Of course, sir," Dieter said, relieved.

"Thank you. And if Kirsch gives you any trouble for missing class, tell her to talk to me. Now get moving."

Dieter hurried back to his shivering and hunched-over friends. At Dieter's insistence, they decided to walk up Cardiac Slope instead of flying. For what seemed like ages, they slogged up the wet flagstones, which were at least shielded from the cold wind by the thick forest to either side. Dieter didn't mind the difficult ascent. His mind had been elsewhere. He had gotten his revenge, and after that brief scare with Adlersflügel, he had gotten away with it. Karkaroff must have crashed somewhere (hopefully in the lake), and the thought of his great enemy wet, cold, and preferably injured was intoxicating. The only thing that tarnished these glorious thoughts was the fact that Karkaroff's suffering would have to be cut short by the Quidditch instructor's errand.

Still, Dieter could drag things out by walking slowly. He wasn't in a rush.

They were very late to Potions class, but so was everyone else. Professor Kirsch accepted everyone's excuses about bad weather without question, and wrote down instructions for a simple boil-cure potion on the board.

Dieter already knew one of the seats would be missing, but he dutifully counted students anyway. He froze when he looked at the back row.

Karkaroff was at his desk. There were no bruises on his face. His hair was neither soaking wet nor unkempt. His robes were not torn.

Dieter's first conclusion was that Karkaroff had an alarmingly quick recovery time, but then a horrible thought occurred. He quickly re-scanned the classroom and noticed that one of the desks in the front row was empty.

His mind drowned in complete, utter dread. _This cannot be happening_, Dieter thought desperately, trying to convince himself that everything was all right. _This cannot be happening_…

It had.

Without thinking, and ignoring the gasps of surprise, Dieter got up, grabbed his broom, and bolted out the door. Faster than he thought was possible (not that he was thinking), he was outside, and without hesitation he mounted his broom and plunged into the storm.

The elements did his best to kill him. Icy, stinging wind seemed to pierce straight through him, and screamed into his ears. His eyes stung in the wind, and he could barely see anything through the endless barrage of rain. Dieter didn't notice.

He barely managed to stay on his broom, but he somehow found himself over a forest before he realised it. Dieter struggled to stop, but fighting the wind was a losing battle. He whipped his head around, searching frantically, but he couldn't see Durmstrang castle anywhere.

The unceasing gale kept shoving and shoving. Black forms appeared not just below, but also in front of him.

And those black forms were trees. _UP!_ Dieter's mind screamed. He gripped his broom as tightly has his numb hands could manage as he fought for altitude. The tops of pines smacked into Dieter, but failed to knock him down.

What finally did knock Dieter down was the side of the mountain. He lost his fight for control over his broom, and the wind threw him into damp bushes on the slope. Branches crunched, and not just under his body. Some branches snapped against his face, and almost as if from malicious intent, one sought out his left eye socket.

Dieter hadn't felt the numbness of his body or the shivering going down to his bones, but he certainly felt the branch going into his eye. That was what complete agony felt like. He screamed, thrashed, and disentangled himself from the bush. He immediately lost balance and landed painfully on the uneven, wet rock.

Dieter swore at the bush and called it every horrible word he knew. He kept his hurt eye closed and clutched at it with his hands. It was warm and wet. Using his remaining good eye, he looked around and discovered he had no idea where he was.

He sobbed and shook, afraid and hating himself. _I'm lost! I'm blind! I'm going to die!_ part of his barely functioning mind despaired. _How could you be so STUPID?_ screamed the other half. _Fool! FOOL! That was some rescue!_

_Get up_, said a small voice at the back of his mind.

The worst part was knowing that he wasn't alone in suffering. Somewhere out there was another student. Where? Dieter had no idea. His victim could have landed to his death in the forest. He could have drowned in the lake, or been impaled on a castle roof. The thought made Dieter sick to his stomach.

_How could I?_

_Idiot!_

_Murderer!_

_Get up_, the voice said again.

He didn't mean to. He never expected it to happen. He never wanted it to happen. _Why couldn't it have been KARKAROFF?_ Because of Dieter's mistake, he had hurt or possibly even killed another student! Dieter was starting to feel how wet and cold he really was.

_GET. UP._

But there was a chance. A small chance that whoever he had attacked was battered and bruised, but still alive. All was not lost. He had to cling onto that hope.

Suddenly, Dieter knew what he had to do. He wiped his face to remove the tears, but it was a useless gesture against the rain. Still holding his wounded eye, Dieter groped for his broom with his free hand. It would be futile to try to fly against the storm, but the Volksbesen would make an adequate walking stick in a pinch.

He tried tracking back and forth to widen his search, but the terrain funnelled him into a steep ravine. While the tiny stream that cascaded down the mountain could not make anything wetter than the rain could, the rocks near the flowing water were coated in moss and very slippery. The dangerous journey downhill was almost as terrifying as his barely-restrained fear that he had someone else's blood on his hands.

Sometime time later, the grade became shallower, and the ravine widened. The brush and moss gave way to small trees, and at the base of one sapling by the stream was a dark red shape. Dieter stumbled, and just barely managed to keep his balance. Disbelieving and heart pounding, he scrambled down.

It was indeed a human figure in Quidditch gear, and the temporarily green robes had reverted to their natural red. The figure was on his stomach, unmoving. Compounding Dieter's horror, the boy's face was lying in the stream – the nose was just under the frigid water.

"No, no… please. Please don't be dead…" Dieter said shakily.

As quickly as he could without slipping and falling himself, Dieter hurried down to the body. He pulled the boy out of the water and flipped him onto his back.

Dieter froze briefly in shock. The boy was not a boy, but a girl. She had shoulder-length black hair and a thin face. Her head was bloodied where she must have hit a rock, and her face sported some cuts and sickeningly purple bruises. Dieter recognised her as Sille, the girl he duelled against in the semi-final of Professor Schmidt's competition. _A girl,_ Dieter thought gravely. _I hurt a GIRL!_ With great force of will, he pushed that thought to the back of his head so it could be dreaded over at a less dire time.

He put his index and middle finger to her neck and found the carotid artery. "Please… please…"

_Beat._

_Beat._

_Beat._

There was little time for relief, since Dieter soon noticed that Sille's chest wasn't moving as it should. _Stay calm._ he told himself. _CALM!_ He furiously tried to remember the first aid he had learned in the Deutsche Jungvolk. Then, miraculously, everything clicked. Dieter turned Sille on her stomach again with her head downhill, so gravity would let water inside drain out. Next, he laid her on the flattest surface he could find and tilted her head back to keep the windpipe open. Dieter took a deep breath, pressed his lips to hers, and blew.

Wait five seconds. Another breath. Five seconds. Breath. Five seconds. Breath. Repeat…

Dieter barely heard Sille's weak, sputtering cough over the pounding rain, but it was the most beautiful sound in the world. She was unconscious, but alive. An enormous weight had been lifted off of Dieter's chest. He was filled with a warm sense of relief that made him feel, if only for a moment, not so cold and wet.

He lifted the Sille onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. She was small and lean-framed, but still a bit heavier than the fully loaded packs he had used on campouts. Dieter had no real idea of how far he had to walk to get back to Durmstrang, but at least his impromptu walking stick would help make the journey possible. With his left hand holding onto Sille and the right supporting himself with his broom, he had nothing to keep pressure on his eye to help stem the bleeding. It couldn't be helped.

He slowly made his way down the mountain and into the forest, which blocked some of the wind and rain. Concentrating on nothing but his heading and footing, Dieter soon lost track of the time.

It was darker when Dieter heard something strange. He wanted to dismiss it as the wind whistling through the trees and the rustling of thousands of branches, but that wasn't what he heard. What he heard, or what he thought he heard, was a high, cackling laugh.

Dieter stopped and looked around him. There was nothing to see but swaying underbrush and trees. There was nothing out of the ordinary to hear either.

He continued walking, and walking. With each step, his feet felt sore and his joints ached. Dieter pressed on nonetheless. At least the terrain was levelling out.

He heard the laugh again, and Dieter almost dropped Sille in shock. His mind wasn't imagining things. He had heard it, twice, and the tone of that laugh deeply disturbed him. It sounded predatory, not amusing.

Tentatively, Dieter resumed carrying Sille through the forest, but he hadn't even taken his second step when he spied a sudden movement in the corner of his good eye. As he walked, the movement followed him, and it was shifting position behind Dieter's left, where he couldn't see owing to his injured eye.

Dieter was being hunted.

As if answering that very thought, the high-pitched voice chirped, _"Oh, come, thou dear child! Oh come thou with me! For many a game I will play there with thee."_

Whatever was following him had a very sick idea of fun. Dieter felt a shiver that had nothing to do with his frigid, damp clothes. He could feel his heart beat madly, as if it was a trapped animal in a cage. _Don't answer it. Stay calm. Stay calm…_ He had two options. He chose to run for it.

He walked as quickly as he could manage without tripping over stones or tree roots. It was not fast enough. Whatever creature or person was pursuing Dieter easily kept pace, and by the rustle and its voice, it was coming closer. _"Wilt go, then, dear child, wilt go with me there? My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care. My daughters by night on the dance floor you lead, They'll cradle and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."_

The sooner Dieter made it out of the forest, the sooner he could escape his pursuer. But it was a vain struggle. The voice and rustling grew louder.

Twigs snapped, and feet pounded the dirt. Dieter realised just in time that he had fled as far as he could go, and now had to make his stand. He turned around.

"Aaarrggh!" Dieter screamed. Needle-sharp teeth sank through his wet trousers and into his leg. He was pushed to the ground, and Sille landed somewhere behind him with a crunch. Dieter managed to kick himself free. Wincing in pain, he limped upright, and held his broom like a club and faced his attacker.

The creature snarled. It was the size of a young child, but everything about the creature was disturbingly inhuman. Naked green skin clung to bones, joints, and ribs. It crept on all four long, emaciated limbs, and its fingers and toes ended in dirty claws. A tangled bundle of antlers crowned its head instead of hair, and it had a long, pointed nose that looked sharp enough to be a weapon in itself. But the most nightmarish part of the creature was its large, round eyes. They were blank and glowed yellow, and they _stared._

It scrabbled towards Dieter, but he swung the tail end of his broom to ward him off. The creature cackled and scurried around into Dieter's blind spot to his left. _"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy. And if thou aren't willing, then force I'll employ!"_

"I can see that! STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Dieter shouted, braver than he felt.

The creature laughed, out of sight. It was circling around Dieter, and he had to keep turning to keep him in sight of his good eye. _"My beautiful child, hear thee my fair deal. For thy freedom, the maiden shall be my meal."_

"NO! Go away!" Dieter answered ineffectively, to the creature's great amusement. The standoff lengthened, but suddenly the creature lunged. It dodged Dieter's makeshift club, and darted straight for Sille. Cackling, it seized her by an ankle and dragged her away from Dieter with unnatural strength.

He pursued and caught up to the creature, but it suddenly tackled him down, and leaped back to drag its prey further away. Dieter launched himself after the creature again, and whipped out his wand. _NOW you remember your wand, idiot! What kind of wizard are you?_ a part of his mind scolded. Dieter banished the thought in his fury and took aim. _"Mordax!"_ he yelled.

The jet of red light struck the creature, causing it to hiss in pain and let go of Sille. It twisted to face Dieter and snarled defiantly.

_"Mordax!"_ Dieter yelled again, but the creature dodged the hex. He didn't see the creature snatch up and throw a pebble with its claws, but he certainly felt the small stone glance painfully off his skull.

Dieter screamed, wounded and enraged. He slashed his wand through the rain and thundered, "DIE! BURN – IN – HELL – AND – _DIE!"_

He didn't say any spells. He couldn't think of any spells either. But, somehow, sparks and fireballs shot out of his wand with each slash and each word. They struck the creature like hammer blows, and left angry red boils on its skin. The creature howled. It bolted into the undergrowth and disappeared.

Dieter's leg's trembled, and then gave way. He laboriously dragged himself over the sodden forest floor to where Sille lay. "Are you – all right?" he panted.

It was a stupid question to ask an unconscious person, and Dieter knew he shouldn't have asked the moment he said it. But the girl's eyelids twitched and her head turned to him, ever so slightly.

Dieter collapsed, and all went black.

* * *

He was lying on something soft. Something that supported him so gently and effortlessly that it felt like there was nothing under him at all. A cloud?

A glow beyond his shut eyelids embraced his face with its warmth. All was peaceful.

Then a foolish thought emerged.

His family had stopped attending church when he five. He supposed he believed in God, but he had no relationship with the Lord Almighty. He couldn't remember the last time he prayed.

So why was Dieter in heaven?

He hadn't done anything worthy of salvation. If there were any cosmic scales of justice, they would have collapsed under the weight of his sin. Especially after what he had just done.

He had hurt a girl. He had almost _killed_ a girl. That was the greatest sin and dishonour a man could possibly commit. His father had made sure that Dieter knew that. He had learned that shameful and painful lesson five years ago. If his father knew he had hurt a lady again – a completely innocent lady, and with injuries of this magnitude – he was sure father would flay him alive.

He stirred uncomfortably at the thought of his reserved place in hell, if such a place existed. That confused him even more about his current status.

Slowly and with great effort, he opened his eye. He wasn't in heaven. The cloud he was lying on was merely an exceedingly comfortable bed, and God was Fräuline Fertig. She was busy doing something out of sight.

Dieter tried to move his head to look around the Infirmary, but he almost exhausted himself doing so. He gave up and blinked a few times, and noticed that only one side of his face responded. He should have known. Now that he put his mind to it, those felt like bandages wrapped around his head to cover his left eye socket.

_Look at the bright side. If you lose that eye, you could look like a pirate!_ he thought stupidly. The more rational part of his brain was not amused.

He stared at the ceiling for some time before Fräuline Fertig noticed he was awake. "Ah, Master Heydrich. How nice of you to be up today. I was going to force feed you in your sleep, but I suppose I could give you something solid to eat. Let me help you sit up…"

Once his back was upright against a small mound of pillows, the school nurse banished a bowl of porridge and summoned something a bit more appetising. Dieter didn't realise until then how hungry he actually was. He wolfed down some sausages and black bread with jam. Even the disgusting turnip tea tasted delicious. He felt much better after eating.

"Now, I know you're going to ask me about your eye – _don't touch it!"_ Fräuline Fertig said, snatching Dieter's hand out of the way. "As I was saying, your eye will be fine as long as you leave it alone. Thankfully, the puncture was shallow and I managed to fix up the worst of the damage, but you have to give it the time it needs to heal, which could be at most a week. So if you have an itch, live with it."

"A week?" Dieter complained. He was not excited about the prospects of a week in the Infirmary. "But you've been able to mend bones in hours."

"The human eye," Fräuline Fertig said impatiently, "is a very complex and delicate organ. Bones are child's play in comparison. So was the Erkling bite. I need you to drink this."

She presented a cone-shaped vial filled with a simmering pink liquid. Dieter looked at it doubtfully, but dutifully drank it. He sputtered and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Bleargh. What was that for?"

"Your flu, of course. Don't forget that you were soaked to the bone out there in the cold! Luckily, the potion does a very job of handling the symptoms."

Dieter's eyelid began to droop.

"Oh, and it knocks you out too…" the nurse said distantly.

"Wait, I have one more question Fräuline Fertig. Whu-what happened to S–"

Dieter fell asleep.

* * *

He wasn't in heaven. He was in the forest again. He was alone, running through the undergrowth, which tugged at his robes and tried to slow him down. He couldn't slow down, not with the rustling noise behind him. He tried to go faster, but the rustle kept coming closer. Dieter's leg's screamed in protest, and his lungs soon thereafter called a general strike. He stopped, panting, and supported himself against a tree.

_"Don't you want to come with me, dear boy?"_ the rustle in the bushes invited. _"For you, my child, I have many a toy."_

Dieter turned towards the voice. He reached into his pockets. Nothing was there. It was hopeless. He had no wand to fight with, so he had to run. But his legs were too tired and he was rooted on the spot.

The undergrowth parted. Out came long, slender green limbs with claws. Then a greasy black head perched atop an emaciated body.

_"Hello Mudblood,"_ Igor Karkaroff cackled. _"Now let's PLAY!"_

"NO!" Dieter yelled with renewed courage.

Dieter was in a panzer.

"FIRE!" he bellowed.

_**BAM!**_ The cannon roared and spat a great tongue of flame. The shell went clean through Karkaroff and exploded against the tree behind him. "FIRE! FIRE!" Dieter shouted again and again. More cannon shells and machine gun bullets slammed into the Slav, who collapsed into a smouldering heap.

Dieter pumped his fist into the air, then leaped out of the turret and onto the ground. "HAHA! Victory is mine!" he jeered triumphantly. He walked over to Karkaroff's corpse and kicked it onto its back.

It wasn't Karkaroff. It wasn't the hideous green creature from the forest either.

It was Sille. She was covered in blood, and stared at him blankly.

"AAARRGH!"

Dieter jumped, quite literally in his bed. His legs jerked and he hit his head on the headboard. "Ow!"

It was dark, and a little moonlight came in through the tall windows. Dieter was breathing heavily, and he discovered that his throat felt scratchy. He hoped to find a jug of water on his bedside table, but he spied something else in his search.

Sille was sleeping in the bed to his left. He wouldn't have seen her if he hadn't rolled himself over onto his side. She sported swaths of bandages on what skin he could see in the moonlight.

Horrible thoughts convulsed through his head. He was terrified. How could he have been so stupid? Instead of clobbering Karkaroff like he had supposed to, he had hurt and very nearly killed an innocent bystander, and a girl, no less. And it had to be a girl he barely knew, not one who annoyed him like Gerta. If it had to be a girl, why couldn't it have been her?

Dieter knew he was doomed just for contemplating such thoughts. _Stupid! Stupid!_ Dieter wanted to curl up and whimper. And that was what he did.

He didn't remember going back to a restless sleep when he woke again in the morning. Sille was still asleep.

Dieter slowly and solemnly ate his breakfast. He was sure it would be his last at Durmstrang – he had to be properly conscious when they expelled him. Even the greatest punishment a school could give did not seem adequate for his crime.

Fräuline Fertig went in and out of the Infirmary from time to time, taking care of patients and fetching more medical supplies. Dieter wasn't aware of how much time had passed when the oak double doors opened again.

In came not the nurse with her cart of potions, but Deputy Rector Theoderich Odoaker wearing crimson robes and a serious expression.

Dieter's heart sank.


End file.
